


Origins of the Spanish Ninja

by maki_82



Series: Origins of the Spanish Ninja [1]
Category: Street Fighter
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual main character, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Cage Fights, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Language, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mixed Martial Arts, Mother-Son Relationship, Multi, Origin Story, Prequel, Pseudo-Incest, Psychological Drama, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 78,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maki_82/pseuds/maki_82
Summary: [PREQUEL-PRE SF] The story of Vega (Balrog/Claw); Follow the story of Vega's life through his eyes as he grows to become a daring matador, vicious cage fighter, and finally Shadowlaw's most ruthless assassin! The truth is more twisted than any lie...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vammy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vammy/gifts).



**DISCLAIMER:**

**This story contains content of a highly disturbing nature that may be offensive to some readers: including abuse, rape, and torture. Please DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended! Vega's life is not a pretty picture! Vega is owned by CAPCOM. Victoria de Cerna & other original characters belong to me. For entertainment only.**

 

My mother was pure and innocent; the fragrance of red roses scented her pale skin. Her long blonde hair was as warm as the Barcelonan sun that shone on it, and her eyes as blue as the sky. It was the one thing that I remembered of her-the smell of red roses and the bitterness of blood and tears that stained her precious skin-how the taste lingered on my lips when kissed her cheek. It mixed together in my mouth like my first taste of red wine. Even as a child, I tasted it and it was comforting and horrible all at once. When she smiled, it was rare and it was like the heavens opened up only for a brief moment, and then all would be dark and still. My father took away her smiles and replaced them with frowns. He with his cold, blue piercing eyes, his face set so jaggedly against his smooth skin. He kept his dark brown hair coiffed with a heavy oil-slick of pomade and with this I knew a different smell—the smell of anger and fear...

I watched with horror as he threw my mother to the ground and she hit the wall. She seemed to shatter like porcelain. I went to help her but I felt a strong, painful grip on my arm.

"No, boy." he said sternly and I could see his anger flashing.

"Vega!" she cried, struggling to pull herself up from the ground.

"Mama!" I exclaimed, fighting to pull from his grasp.

"What have I told you, boy? She is a whore! Nothing but and she'll spread her legs for anyone-even _you_..." Papa said matter-of-factually.

"No! How could you say that, Papa?"

I looked to Mama, who sat up now, still sprawled on the floor like a doll. She shook her head and whimpered.

"It isn't true..." she whispered. Papa glared at her.

"No, no..." she moaned. "Miguel, please."

I looked back at my father, trying to understand. Why would he say such a thing? Why? I freed myself and ran to Mother, wrapping my arms around her and weeping against her neck.

"Oh that's right, Vega. Go to Mama now. Suck her tit like always. You will never be a man. Never! And I will _not_ have a son who is not a man!"

I was outraged and I stood up, ready to defend myself.

"I will be a man, Papa! And I will be a better man than you..." I hissed back. "Mama is not a whore and she is more kind, more beautiful than you ever will be!" Papa grabbed her again and began to drag her across the floor to her feet, pinning her against the wall. He pressed against her as she continued to cry.

"If you _love_ her so much, then prove it." He growled at me, as he reached under her blue silk dress and began to pull down her panties. He spread her thighs with his knee between them.

"No!" I screamed and I could see Mama, with her face pressed against the wall still begging him to stop.

"Go on boy!" He yelled again, grabbing me by the arm and throwing me at her, gesturing at my pants. I shook my head angrily.

"Never." and I stepped away.

"Go, Vega! Get out of here!" she cried out and she was met with my father's hand grabbing a fist full of her golden hair and pulling her head back. She screamed and I felt my body lock in place.

"No. You will stay. I'm going to show you that your mother is a whore." said my father in a gruff voice and his ice blue eyes sparkled in an evil light.

"Please, Vega, go!" sobbed Mother once more.

I threw myself into the corner and shielded myself with my arms. I could not bear to know what he would do...but I heard the sound of his buckle being undone and the zipper... I heard him give a loud grunt, the smacking of flesh and her cries.

"You can't deny it, Victoria." he hissed between his thrusts into her ear. "I saw you with those men at the Ambassador's Ball last weekend!"

"No, it's not-not-what you think, Miguel. I...I was only being polite!"

I peeked through my arms through the narrow slit they made as I held my knees.

 _Ambassador's Ball...he can't mean...I saw him screwing a woman in the coatroom...how can he?_ I thought. _Is this why he's so angry?_

I was there with my parents that weekend. Another boring function I was forced to attend to make them look good in their social circles. I sat next to the British Ambassador's daughter, as she was also my age of 13. We had little to talk about since my English was only fair and she did not speak Spanish. She said she knew a little French. My mother taught me but I never used it—we always spoke in our native Catalan at home.

And so, we did as any awkward teens would do and we decided to hold hands coyly and smile at each other.

I knew my mother and I knew she was not doing the same thing my father was that night. My mother was a beautiful sight and her smile was confident and radiant when she was not with him. It was easy to see how many would love her charm and grace.

I could still hear him panting and groaning like the monster he was and I felt my stomach begin to churn.

"Tell me, Victoria. Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me, you _need_ me, like you always do!"

"I want-" and the rest was indistinguishable by her wails.

"Do you love me, Victoria?" I heard him say, followed by a deathly weak response. "Do _worship_ me? I am your _savio_ r, your _god_ , Victoria! Remember who you are and what you would be without _me_." He paused for a moment and I felt an icy glare upon me.

"Do you love Vega?" he asked and I could hear the evil in his intonation. I feared to hear her speak.

"Yes," she moaned. With another violent thrust, he slammed into her again, crushing her hips against the wall. He slapped her face.

"You abominable whore!" he roared and I hugged myself close and shut my eyes tight. "I should slit your throat now for having something so _unnatural_ in my house! God will damn you, woman!"

I could hear my mother practically choking on her tears as she fought to speak.

"No, it's not like that. I could never...never..."

"Shut up!" and he continued his thrusts. I couldn't hear her speak anymore and he seemed quiet but I knew it was still happening. I heard him growl something inaudible in her ear and then I saw him throw her to the floor again, her body making a loud smack as it hit the cold, marble floor.

"She's yours now, boy." Father growled and I heard him finally disappear down the corridor.

"Mama! Mama!" I cried, crawling on my hands and knees to her. "Oh God, Mama!" I said as I pulled her up and held her in my arms. She lifted her head slowly to look at me.

"Vega..."

I touched her face gently and my eyes trailed down to her dress. I saw blood staining the end and a small trail on the floor and I dare not look again. She smiled her faint heavenly smile at me. My eyes widened and my hands began to shake.

"Mama, you're..."

"Help me up, _el_ _meu_ _amor_. Get me to the bath." she said, not even seeming to care that she bled. I was growing taller by the month but still my strength waned. I could not take her into my arms to carry her as I wished so I did my best to brace my arms around her and she held to my shoulders. I walked carefully as she stumbled weakly now and again, throwing off her high heels somewhere in the corridor as she walked. Her tan stockings were ripped and hung loosely around her ankles. Her immaculate hairdo was tussled and wrecked.

I finally made it to her master bathroom and sat her gently on the toilet. Then, I began the water in her white porcelain tub. As I waited for it to fill, she looked at me quietly.

"Ok, Vega. Help me." she said.

"Mother..." I said softly, questioning her.

She sighed but it was not in annoyance; she sighed in complete exhaustion.

"Vega, I know...that you don't want to do this...but, you don't have to look. Just...unzip my dress. I'll do the rest." and so I did. I watched her dress fall to the floor and I turned my back as she continued to undress. I knew I should have left then but a part of me could not bear to leave her in that state. She wrapped a towel around her body and beckoned me.

"Ok, take my hand now. I'll be alright. I promise." I did so and I turned my head away again as she slowly sank into the water, and she hissed as the warmth stung her wounds.

"Mother, are you alright?" I said in some alarm, holding to her hand and crouched down beside her.

"Oh yes, Vega. I'm fine!" she said cheerily. I tried not to notice as the water suddenly turned a pale shade of red.

"Mother...I think you need to go to hospital," I said quietly. I could see bruises forming all over her back and ribs. Her blue eyes widened and she squeezed my hand.

"No! I cannot go!" she cried in horror. "They mustn't find out!"

"But Mama!" I protested.

"I'm alright. Your father... he is a cruel man but I don't believe him to be evil. He beat me much worse than this before you were born." I could not believe what I was hearing.

"What?" I exclaimed. I knew that they had married only nine months before my birth. I felt nauseous again and I looked at my mother with tears in my eyes.

"What is it, Vega?"

"It can't be true..."

"Oh, _el meu fill_..." she cooed, running her hand through my long-growing golden hair and wiping the tears from my face. "I love you and I will always cherish the day I had you." I kissed her and she smiled, hugging me.

**Glossary:**

_El meu fill_ \- My son (Catalan)  
_El meu amor_ \- My love (Catalan)


	2. Aftermath

My mother was in bed for 2 weeks after the attack and she could barely walk.

Although she was afraid, I called the doctor to the house the moment my father left that night...

She lay in her bed as the doctor entered.

"What is this, Vega?" she asked and I could see the fear in her eyes. I was silent.

The doctor was an older gentleman but he had a kindly look and I was glad to see he was there. He took my mother's hand.

"Victoria, how are you?" he asked. I saw the tears coming back to her eyes.

"I'm fine, Doctor."

"Vega tells me your husband attacked you. I'm going to need to see your wounds."

She swallowed hard and he squeezed her hand and looked back at me.

"Vega, I need to examine your mother now." he said and I quietly left the room.

I sat outside, and crouched against the door, listening to as much as I could.

The doctor pulled back the sheets and carefully lifted her nightgown, and gently removed her underwear. He spread her legs and after a few moments, he looked up at her gravely.

"We have to get you to the hospital. You've lost a lot of blood and I fear there's severe internal damage." My mother bolted forward and grabbed his arms desperately.

"No! No! I can't go...my husband, he'll-"

"I'm sorry, Victoria. I have no choice; I have to help you." then I heard my mother begin to sob and wail. The door suddenly opened and I fell back.

The doctor smiled wryly at me.

"You can go in now." he said.

I ran to my mother's side.

"Are you okay, Mother?" she gave a fatigued smile and stroked my cheek.

"I'll be fine, don't worry, my preciousness." I felt the doctor put his hand on my shoulder.

"Vega, I'm afraid she has to go to the hospital." I looked at my mother and then back at the doctor questioningly.

"Your father has caused a lot of damage to her and she has to go or she'll die." He explained. I was still afraid but I knew she had to go.

"Mother, you have to go. Don't be afraid, I'll come with you." She smiled at me through her tears.

It wasn't long before I heard the sound of sirens and there were flashing lights outside.

I sat in the waiting room, nervously. My knees were drawn to my chest and I was praying. There was a table with magazines between the chairs and then I saw a small dark red leather book—the Holy Bible—and I took it, holding to my chest, as if every word, every prayer would seep inside and heal my fear. Mother came out of surgery a few hours later.

Cautiously, I entered the dimly lit room where she lay. I could hear all the blood rushing in my ears and my heart pounded mercilessly in my chest.

"Come, Vega," she said, gesturing weakly. I approached not knowing if I should even touch her, for it occurred to me now more than ever that she might break. She smiled her ever-lasting smile and I knew she must have been in a lot of pain. Mother always smiled at me, no matter how hurt she was, and I was the only person to see her smile. I became aware that her smile was a mask— _a mask of agony_ —hiding her true feelings.

Gently, I leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

"You seem so scared," she said softly, touching my cheek and drawing me forward. "Come now, give your mama a kiss." I hesitated and then gave her a quick kiss on her lips.

She smiled, "There now. It wasn't so bad, was it?"

I looked down at her and then threw myself against her, unable to stop the tears that came. Mother cooed and rubbed my back as I wept.

" _Està_ _bé...està_ _bé..._ " she whispered. " _El_ _meu_ _amor, està_ _bé_."

I could hear her breathing and her heart beating beneath me as my head lay on her chest. She was still stroking my hair from my face and rubbing my back, trying to soothe me. For a moment, I felt like a child, trying to feel safe, but then I felt the cruel reality stabbing at me and I opened my eyes.

"Mama," I said, lifting my head to look at her.

"What, my handsome son?" she cooed, wiping my face.

"Leave him." and the tone in my voice told her I was serious.

"What? No, I can't!" she cried. I rose to my knees and laid my hands on her arms.

"Yes, you can, Mama! We can! It's easy...we'll run away from here. Go where he can't find us..."

She laughed softly and I tried to understand.

"He will always find us. He always has..." I shook my head.

"I'm _scared_..." I said quietly. "I know you are scared, too. What do you think will happen if he finds you here?"

"Vega, I am in a hospital. What more can he do?" I thought for a moment. Surely, she was right. Papa would never risk a public confrontation, and yet, I could not be as sure. There was an awkward silence in the air as I climbed off the bed to sit in a chair next to it.

"Bring me my makeup bag, _si us plau_." said Mother, gesturing to small leather case on the bed-side table.

"Here? But Mama, you're in the hospital..." I protested. She smiled and looked down at her hospital gown.

"That is no excuse! I really should look my best. I will be leaving soon, you know." and for the first time, I saw her smile—really smile and she did not seem so afraid. She took her mirror from her bag and fluffed her hair.

"Oh look at me! I'm a mess!" she scoffed. I did not think she looked so bad but to me, she was always an angel. I watched her put on a pearl necklace and I snickered.

"Don't you know? Pearls go with anything!" she exclaimed with a laugh. Carefully, she lined her lids with black liner, drawing the ends to cat's-eyes and coated them with a shimmery blue eye shadow and then began to brush on some of her mascara. She blinked and then looked at me.

"There now! I think I shall be ready when the doctors come in, don't you?"

"Perfect, Mama, perfect!" I said with a smile.

The door opened suddenly and I turned to see my father. He held a bouquet of red roses in his hands. I rose and stood close to Mother.

"Victoria! Why are you here? I did not hurt you _that_ badly!" She rolled her eyes at him with a sigh and then smirked at him.

"Oh no? Tell that to my surgeons! I nearly bled to death and you would have let me _die_!" she hissed.

"You had no right to come without telling me. Better that you die than to let you tell them such lies!" Mother gasped as he continued, looking at me, "and look how she _whores_ herself up, boy! Even in the hospital...did you think you were going to _sleep_ with the surgeons, dear?" he snickered at her.

"Better than _you, dear_." replied mother bitterly. Suddenly, my father lunged forward and grabbed her throat. I ran to pull him off to no avail.

"What did you tell them, woman? Do they know?" Mother began to struggle and gasp for air.

"They...already know...they know I was raped...they had to examine...me..." she choked out.

"Whore! Look what you have done!" he yelled.

I fought wildly to get him away from her.

"Let her go! Let her go! You're hurting her!" I cried helplessly.

Her eyes widened and tears streamed down her face as his horrid face was fixed in a sneer.

"Help! Help!" I screamed, running out the door and down the hall. "He's trying to kill my mother!" Soon, two burly guards came in and pulled him off. Father yelled and thrashed, trying to get loose. I watched as the bouquet of roses was thrown to the ground, the red petals scattering like drops of blood...

"You can't touch me, you can't touch me! I am a nobleman! I hold position in His Majesty King Juan Carlos' court! You can't do this!" They grabbed him by either arm and carried him out the door. A nurse rushed in to tend to her wounds. I could see large welts already forming on her throat. Her cheeks were washed a familiar black from the makeup running down her face as she cried.

"Mama!" I cried, reaching out to touch her but I was pushed back gently by the nurse.

"You have to go now, son." said the nurse gently as I wept.

"It's okay, Vega. Call your grandma! She will stay with you at the estate for a while." called Mother as I went out. When Mother spoke of my grandma, she meant my father's mother, as my mother's parents were killed during the Spanish Civil War by Franco. She was raised in a meager household by my great-grandparents.

Mother came home a few days later in a wheel chair. Her injuries made her mostly bedridden and so I spent a lot of time in her bedroom keeping her company. I did not like seeing her that way but, it kept my father away. Since she was not around to annoy him, then they did not get into many fights.

She lay in her queen-size bed under layers of white sheets and blankets, her head propped under 2 or 3 large, fluffy, white pillows. I brought her magazines and snacks and had her TV moved into her room so she could watch her daily dramas. Mama lay there, as always, in her pearls and makeup, looking like a queen with so many pillows around her. Father leered at her when she came out every once in awhile—but he said nothing.

"Oh Vega, what on earth will we do with your hair? It's grown so long!" exclaimed my mother one day, as we sat on her bed. I sat between her legs as she brushed my hair. I told her I could do it and I did not want her exerting herself, but _of course_ , Mother insisted.

"We're not cutting it, Mama." I said with complete resolution.

"Such beautiful golden hair…just like mine! Oh…I wouldn't dream of it!" I smiled. My hair grew down my back now. Mother had been letting it grow that way since I was little, despite protests from my father that he did not want a "daughter". All the socialites scoffed also at the idea of a son with long hair but she did not listen.

"Do you know, when you were born, your hair—it was quite dark. I was certain it was going to be like your father's." said Mother reminiscently. I looked horrified and shuttered at the thought of my ugly father. "But, _Déu meu!_ " and she crossed herself emphatically, "By the blessed Virgin, you know, it lightened as you grew!" I sighed contentedly as she continued to brush and stroke my hair. The feeling of the brush in my hair was pure bliss, and my heart lept at the very idea of being as beautiful as her.

"I want to be beautiful, Mama—beautiful like you." I said, prodding at my flawless skin on my face. She laughed softly.

"Men are not beautiful. They are _handsome._ "

"That's not good enough, Mama! I don't want to be handsome, I want to be beautiful!" I exclaimed and I turned to her, my blue eyes blazed with the passion.

"But you are, you are, my son!" she cried, touching my face.

"Mama, swear to me I am beautiful! Swear that I will always be the most beautiful man in the world. Swear to me— _swear_ to me that I will never be like _him_ …" My jaw set and I grabbed her hands, squeezing them hard.

"Vega!" she cried out in pain.

"Swear, Mama! _Swear!_ " I hissed. I stared at her so hard I felt as though I was looking through her.

She began to whimper and mutter.

"Vega, please. Let go…you're hurting me."

My father, he was truly ugly—inside and out. He had pale skin with dark brown hair, with ice blue soul-piercing eyes. His nose was jagged and sloped into a hook and his cheeks bore the scars of pox marks. I loved my mother with all of my heart but for the life of me, I will never understand what she saw in him.

"Mama, I swear to _God_ , if I ever become ugly, I will _die_!" I cried. I could feel my chest heaving and my eyes filling with tears. I let go and she wrapped her arms around me as she wept. After a moment, she composed herself and looked at me.

"No, Vega, you will never, never be ugly. Never, never, never!" she whispered hoarsely, sniffing and wiping her face. "I swear by all that is holy and I swear on my life you are beautiful and you always will be!"

"But what happens when I get old? I will be ugly then! How can I stop it?" I asked, suddenly feeling the mortality of my future.

"Even when you are old, you will be beautiful. It is so." said Momma in a soothing voice. I looked into vanity mirror and stared at my face, admiring my features. I nodded in approval.

"Now, Vega, one thing I must tell you if you insist on keeping your hair this way," she said, resuming brushing my hair and beginning to braid it. "You must keep it braided as often as you can. You must always brush it and keep it clean." I smirked.

"Girls have braids, don't they Mama?"

"They do, but so do men in many cultures. It is only practical."

"Practical. Okay, Mama." I said.

Suddenly, my father came in. He frowned in disgust and Mother stared at him through the mirror, equally annoyed. Still, he walked up to her and placed a rough kiss on her temple. She recoiled at his touch.

" _¿Cómo_ _estás_ _hoy, Querida?_ " asked Father, speaking in Castilian in his usual condescending tone of voice, running his hand through her hair. Mother looked placidly at him and then looked down.

"You _know_ very well how I am, Miguel. Why do you even _ask_?" He smirked and folded his arms.

" _Ay, Dios mío_ …what have we here? We need to get you away from your Mama, boy. At your age it isn't right that you should spend so much time with her," he said to me, smoothly gliding over my mother's comment.

"What do you mean, Papa?" I asked, my voice rising in defense.

"Miguel..." Mother started.

"I think you know, Vega." and he took the brush from her hand. "Don't you think that your mother is capable of taking care of herself?" His cold blue eyes flashed and his smug look made me uneasy. I clenched my fists and stepped back.

"Yes, but—"

" _Your mother_ just wants the attention. She has always wanted attention and takes to anyone who gives it to her." Mother sighed and covered her face with her hand.

"Come on, Vega. I want to show you something." said my father, putting his hand on my shoulder and leading me out the door. Mother watched warily as I left. I wondered what my father wanted; it was not like him to want anything to do with me. If he was not beating my mother, then he was not around.

I watched him carefully as we got into the car. He gave some instructions to the driver and then sat quietly next to me. I couldn't help but to stare at him speechlessly and wonder where we were going...

**Glossary:**

_Està bé_ \- It's okay (Catalan)  
 _el meu amor_ \- my love (Catalan)  
 _Déu meu_ \- My God! (Catalan)  
 _Si us plau_ Please (Catalan)

_Ay, Dios mío_ \- Oh, my God! (Spanish)  
 _¿Cómo estás hoy, Querida?_ \- How are you today, Dear? (Spanish)


	3. A Fateful Ride

The car ride down town was silent as I wondered what he was up to. Passed all the old buildings and the cobblestone streets we drove until the car stopped in front of a massive brick building. It looked to be some kind of arena. We got out and I stood in amazement at it.

" _La Plaza de Toros Monumental_ ," said my father putting his hand on my shoulder.

"Bullfighting?" I said. It is a misconception that bullfighting is a national sport in Spain. It really is not. We are Catalonian people, a culture and a heritage all our own! Bullfighting is Spanish and therefore, there is not a lot of bullfighting happening in Catalonia anymore.

" _Sí,_ " he replied. " _Vale, va manos,_ " and we walked inside. We stopped at the ticket booth to get tickets and we took our seats in the bleachers.

" _No ho crec!_ " I exclaimed.

"What was that?" said Father, his voice rising in annoyance.

" _No-no lo creo_ …" I replied, quickly switching to Castillian.

"Ay! You _have_ been with your mother too long. You've forgotten your own tongue!"

"No I haven't. It's just that…we _are_ in Catalonia. We can't be expected to use Spanish all the time and Mama-"

"Oh yes, 'Mama'…" he snickered.

" _Mama_ likes it better." I continued defiantly. He folded his arms.

"So why are we here?" I asked. He was staring off into the distance and I could see the frustration on his face.

"I told you about men and women didn't I, Vega? When men and women like each other?" he asked, not even looking at me.

"Yes," I replied, curiously.

"I think it's time you learned more about women." He replied.

"But I _know_ , Papa!" I protested.

"No, you don't. You're too young to know everything yet. Now, listen here. I don't know what your mother has told about women and how they work, but she lied. This much I know."

"What?" I cried. "She would never lie!" He smirked at me and my indignant attitude.

"Sit down, boy. You're making a scene. Women are soft and subservient creatures. They serve no other purpose than to serve us. They want us to dominate them. They are far too weak to stand on their own,"

"They do?" I asked, vexed.

"Yes. Look at your mother! She's a mess. Women already know this. Why else would they cheat men into doing things for them? Your mother has done nothing but use me since I met her. She is weak and useless."

"That isn't so!" I cried again.

"Think, boy. She has you wrapped around her finger and you do everything for her…now, I told you she can take care of herself. You'd do well to leave her alone,"

"No, Papa! She needs me. She's sick!" I exclaimed.

"Yes, she's sick. She's a whore and she'll do nothing but use you. All women are whores, remember that. You must treat them as such,"

"No! Not Mama! She's perfect. She isn't a whore, she isn't!" I insisted. Mother was pure porcelain perfection in my eyes.

"No one is perfect; _God_ is perfect..." he snickered.

I licked my lips in thought. What my father never knew was I already knew what _other_ women were like. The maids with their dark hair and eyes thought they could hide their lustful secrets but I knew...

" _¡Oye! ¡Niño!_ Are you listening to me?" said the voice of my father, shattering my thoughts.

" _¿Qué?_ I said. He sighed heavily.

"I can't blame you if you were watching the fight! It really is splendid." and he laid a rough hand on my shoulder again. I nearly jumped, looking at him from the corner of my eye.

I watched as the matador moved in the arena, in his brightly colored costume. I saw his grace and agility, deftly dodging the bull at each turn.

" _¡Olé!_ " cried the crowd.

I saw how he could out-maneuver the bull despite the animal's brute strength. I saw myself there, like the matador, leading my father to his demise. Soon, the bull would be at his mercy, and so would my father...

I watched, fascinated as the matador did a few flips, to the cheers of the crowd. He moved gracefully, his lithe form dancing around the bull, taunting it with the red cloth. It waved like a red sea in front of him, like the color of flowing blood, luring the bull to his death—it was the dance of death.

"Huh? What?" I said again, still transfixed.

"Damn it!" he swore at me, "The matador _._ He is very famous, you know. The crowd always likes his tricks. In fact, he only just recently came out of retirement." explained Father, his tone rising.

I nodded absentmindedly as I stared at the man. Someday, I would be him, this I knew. How wonderful it would be!

"And did you know the King is big lover of bullfighting? He often attends them!"

"The King?" I exclaimed. "Does the Queen come with him?"

"Queen Sofia is not fond of it, no, and she has become more vocal recently since Their Majesties took the Throne." I felt thrilled that perhaps I would be in the arena someday and the King would see _me_.

Soon, people began to rise and my father motioned for me to start following him out.

It was dark by the time we arrived home, but Father and I went in separate ways. It was not long before I heard his voice rose in anger again. I quietly walked down the hallway to see where he was.

" _¡No! ¡No! ¡No hicenada! Por favor, ¡Señor! Es que-_ " he had the maid by the arm and was shaking her violently. Her dress was disheveled and I could see her shoulder and a red bloody mark upon it— _my_ mark.

" _¡Dime!_ " he roared. He threw her down to the floor and glared at me.

"Vega!" he hissed as she whimpered at his feet. "What did you do to her? What did you do?"

I folded my hands innocently behind my back with a smirk. I could still taste her on my lips, her blood was so sweet. I delighted in molesting the maids whenever possible, and though it was rarely sexual, the real pleasure was in infuriating my father. I met his glare, knowing he would not punish me and turned and walked towards my mother's room triumphantly.

I knocked on her door softly and entered.

"Oh Vega, you're home!" cried Mother, throwing open her arms. I came and wrapped my arms around her waist, kissing her cheeks.

"Hello, Mama. I'm back," I said, burrowing my head against her chest, the rest of my body hanging to the floor.

" _Uf,_ I think you're getting too big for me, _elmeu fill!_ " she cried with a laugh.

"No, Mama. Never." I said and I kissed on her cheeks and neck, deeply inhaling her comforting familiar scent. She stroked my hair and smiled.

"So tell me. Where did you and your father go this afternoon?"

_Oh God, my father…_ I groaned mentally.

" _La Plaza deToros Monumental_ ," I replied. She sat up on her elbows and I adjusted my position.

"Bullfighting?" she exclaimed. "Why on earth would you go there?" she asked, her voice rising shrilly.

"I don't know. He wanted to talk to me, I guess," I replied with a shrug.

"About what?" She looked at me patiently for a response, continuing to stroke my hair.

My mouth opened but I said nothing, my eyes cast downward.

"I need to take my bath now. Will you help me?" she asked and my heart fell to my stomach and my cheeks felt like they burned. I could hear Father's voice in my head. _He's wrong._ I thought to myself. She lifted herself off the bed into her wheelchair. I followed her into her bathroom, which was just inside her bedroom. I stared at the water in her white porcelain tub and sat on the edge as it filled. She took off her robe as she waited. I stared into the water at my reflection and admired myself.

I took her hand as she slid off her night gown and underwear. She put one foot into the tub and fell back against me. I caught her and she stepped inside the tub again. I traced the lines of her body with my eyes. From the gentle slope of her hip to the fullness of her breasts—she was beautiful. She looked at me as she sank into the water.

"Are you not ashamed to see your Mother naked?" she asked as she met my gaze.

"No. You're beautiful." I said softly. I sat behind her and washed her back. I drew figures on her back idly with my finger and continued to follow the lines of her body with my eyes. She sighed pleasantly, closing her eyes, and tipping her head back. I watched her sensually stretch her legs out to the end of the tub, her toes poking from the water.

"Such a sweet boy, _my_ sweet boy..." she cooed, reaching back to cup my face. I wrapped my arms around her neck gently.

"Now, what did your father say, Vega? Hm?" she asked casually. "You seem upset...not that you shouldn't be. He's your father after all." she replied and her tone was low and bitter.

"He said that you are a whore," I said and I could barely bring myself to say it. Mother sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, he always says that. You know he does."

"But it isn't true!" I cried. She turned to look at me.

"Of course not, my darling. I have never betrayed him." I looked at her and thought about my father's words again. _Would you betray_ _ **me**_ _?_ I thought. Mother smiled at me.

"And I would never betray you," she said assuredly as if she read my thoughts. I looked her in the eye and I felt myself begin to swoon. I kissed her, perhaps only for a moment. A sweet peck on the mouth, and I felt the soft warmth of her lips and I knew her taste, the same taste I knew since I was born; the bitter salt of her tears and the copper & iron of her precious blood. I kissed her as gently as I always did, and yet I felt all my passion flowing out—as if I might take all of her breath in mine. I quickly pulled away, fearing what I would see when I opened my eyes. And yet, when I opened them, she did not look afraid or shocked...perhaps she did not look like anything at all. She pressed her forehead to mine, with her usual endearing smile, and giggled. I stared at her, amazed. _Mama, how could you do this to me?_

"My! What was that for? How wonderful you are! You really are a sensitive boy, aren't you?"she said with a chuckle and then she turned away from me and sank down into the water, the bubbles covering her shoulders.

"You know, when we first met, your father told me I looked like _Brigitte Bardot_ , with blue eyes of course." said Mama after a moment. I clenched my jaw and restrained myself from touching her, wondering how she could change so quickly.

"I remember, Mama—that French actress, from the '50's." I said, somewhat irritated but she didn't seem to notice.

She crossed her legs and began singing something softly in French, directing each syllable with her toes, and then she trailed off in mid-phrase. I watched puff of bubbles slide down her toe as she wiggled it.

"She's not as popular now as she was then, and I never cared for her." she chuckled, " _Ay,_ you know, I even did my hair like hers for a while just so your father would like it,"

"I've seen her, Mama. She's still around...I've seen her in Papa's magazines. He showed me once, and told me she was also a whore—that all women are whores, and that we should treat them like one."

"Oh now, you don't really believe that, do you?" she said, a tone of skepticism in her voice.

"Of course not, Mama. Why would I listen to anything he says?" I said wryly.

"Good. You must always treat women with respect. They are not objects, they are meant to be loved and worshiped and cared for like the most precious thing you could ever have."

_I only want to worship you..._

"So, why doesn't Papa love women?"

"Your father is rife with sin in his life. He only hears what he wants and believes what he wants and if he'd rather listen to one passage of the Bible than the other, then it is his choice. Not a very good one, though."

I knew what she was referring to in the Bible; where God created women, He explained why He made them. In one way it said that women were mans' companion, to be his friend, to love and care for him, and to love and care for her in return, and yet women were still servant to his needs.

The idea I could have a woman on her knees was an exciting thought—almost as much as loving one. I kissed the nape of her neck nonchalantly.

"That reminds me, Vega," she said. "Have you gone to Mass lately?" I hesitated for a moment.

"Yes, Mama." I replied obediently.

"And have you had Confession?"

I thought and twiddled my thumbs for a moment, chewing on my bottom lip.

"I've been so busy taking care of you, Mama-"

"Vega," she chided. "You should never risk your immortal soul for me," she said sternly but I could hear a laugh in her voice. I sighed.

I knew what was in my head and in my heart and only God would know, but dare I say it out loud? I could see her looking at me through the corner of her eye.

"You aren't hiding anything from your Mama, are you?"

"No, I would never hide anything from you! I tell you everything." I said, as sincerely as I could manage.

"Yes, that's true, but sometimes I wonder...we have an awful amount of secrets in this house." I looked at her nervously. What did she know?

"I heard your father fighting with a maid when he came home. Do you know what about?" she asked suddenly.

"N-no, Mama," I lied quickly.

"Hm. Well, it doesn't matter. He just yells anyway." I had to agree with her on that but then, something she said struck me.

"What secrets do _you_ have?" I asked her. She smiled her radiant smile and said,

"We all have our secrets, my dearest. We would not be human if we didn't."

"But, what _kind,_ Mama?" I said, leaning over the tub to look her in the eye. She smiled knowingly at me.

"Vega, they are mine to keep. Just as you have yours to keep," she stroked my face again and I could see she wanted me to understand so that I would stop asking.

_My secrets?_ I thought in horror. _How could she know about my secrets? Are her powers as a mother so great she knows my whole soul?_ My panic overthrew me. I moved in front of her and squatted next to the tub, resting my hand on the edge.

"But, Mama, it isn't fair! If you know my soul so well, then why don't I know yours?"

"You are too young to know. I know your soul because you are a part of me. You came from me and I created you. Shouldn't a mother know her own child so well?" I blinked, frustrated, and tried to understand why she was not telling me all I wanted to know. It was not good enough. She sighed and smiled at me, seeing my frustration.

"Fine, do you want to know a secret? I have carried it with me since day you were born," she said. I leaned in closely.

"You are my savior,"

"What?" I shrieked. "Mama..." I murmured.

"I would never have had the will to survive this long if I hadn't had you," she looked at my distraught face.

"You are the only good thing he's ever given me and my only reason for living. You wanted me to leave him, and well, I can't. You know that. The Church forbids it, but as long as I have you, I know I am safe and I know I have love. I will never need for anything else," I bowed my head.

"I'm sorry, Mama.. I-never mind." I said, unable to find the words.

"That _is_ what you wanted to know, isn't it? That you are my only protector, my only _love?_ " she asked, and she lifted my chin to look into her gleaming blue eyes.

I looked at her, terrified of the truth and I could not speak. She understood me more than I could ever realize...

"A woman may love her husband very much, Vega. They may even be soul-mates; but a mother secretly loves her child more than anyone else in her life—more than her _own_ life." I felt sick and I rose to my feet, unsure if I would have to run to the toilet or if I would be alright. I leaned against the doorway with my back to her.

"Are you alright, _elmeuamor_?" she asked, seeing me standing there. My mind raced and I braced myself against the doorway with an elbow and held my stomach with the other arm. I could not bear to hear anymore and so, I told her a secret of my own.

"I love you, Mama, and I've decided. I'm going to become a matador."


	4. Into the Bullpen

She came inside and curtsied before the altar before taking her seat in the pew. She ran her rosary through her fingers and began to pray, in between muffled sobs. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder and she lifted her head to look through her lace veil. Wearing her usual black lace veil that she always wore to Mass, she looked more like a woman in mourning than a woman who had come to pray. It was in sharp contrast to her pastel blue dress; she preferred blue, and it matched her eyes. This day was no different.

"Are you all right, Mrs. de Cerna?"

"Oh, Father! Yes, I-I'm fine," and she sniffed and wiped her eyes.

"Come now, Victoria. I know when someone is in pain." said the priest.

"Father!" she cried suddenly, grabbing the priest's hands. "It-it's my son, Vega! I am worried for him. I…it's this bullfighting! I don't like it!"

"I see," he replied thoughtfully and took a seat next to her in the pew. "Is there any reason you don't like it?" She looked down again.

"He could die! Those bulls are dangerous! I-I couldn't live if he…."

The priest smiled gently.

"Victoria, how long has he been a bullfighter?"

"Well, he's been training since he was 13. I never approved but his father insisted on it."

"And has he ever gotten hurt?"

"I-I don't know… I never attended. I couldn't."

"Your son is one of the fastest rising young matadors in the country! He also has had an amazing record of very few injuries."

She looked up at him in amazement.

"You…?" she gasped.

He chuckled warmly,

"It isn't always about sermons and confessions! I do like to get out and about, you know, and I must say, he is very good." She stood up suddenly.

"But it isn't fair!" she cried. "Father, you have to tell him to stop! He can't take his life in his hands like that. It isn't his life!"

The priest waited for her to continue.

"It's God's! We are His children. Our souls are not ours, nor our bodies nor minds."

"Don't you think you are being a little selfish?"

"Selfish? Selfish! Father, how dare you say such a thing!" she exclaimed.

"Calm yourself, Victoria." said the priest softly, laying a hand on her shoulder. "This is the House of God, remember." She clinched her fists tight, gripping her rosary with a death-grip, her body trembled, and she burst into tears again. She stumbled back to the pew with her head in her hands.

"I can't make your son stop doing what he loves, and nor should I. I can only offer my advice." She sniffed and tried to disregard his council but he continued. "Did you ever consider…that it is within God's plan for your son? In that your son would succeed in something that would make him great in some way?" Mother looked at him, the tears sliding down her face, and her lips parted in disbelief.

"Do you really think I would not wish him to succeed? I would never be so cruel! I wish for him everything I never had! I lived through the horrors of General Franco and I had nothing. All I could ever want for him is everything." She looked wistful for a moment and smiled. "If only he could have taken up football."

I rushed inside the church, making a quick bow to the altar before walking up to the priest and my mother.

"There you are, Mama!" I cried. I saw her face and how she had been crying.

"Father! What's wrong with her? What happened?" He had a wry smile on his face and sighed.

"Your mother is fine. She was just concerned, that's all." I knelt in front of her and took her hand from her face.

"With who? Me?" I cried. "Mama, please, what's the matter?" she murmured her responses between sobs. I looked back at the priest.

"Father, what did I do?" and then it hit me. I rose slowly.

"Mother! How could you? You are embarrassing me! I told you that I was going to do this no matter what."

"My son, you have great potential!" said the priest warmly.

"I am the best, aren't I?" I said with a grin.

"A little humility would suit you, Vega." replied the priest gravely.

"I came here to get advice from the priest," she replied to me finally. Her words were soft and choked by her tears. "And to pray you would not get hurt."

"Why aren't you listening to me? I am the best! The best and that means I won't get hurt! God won't allow it—" I exclaimed, my chest and my ego swelled with pride.

"Vega…" cautioned the priest once more.

I grabbed my mother's wrist and began to drag her towards the exit.

"Let go, Vega! Let go right now!" exclaimed Mother, pulling back.

"We're going, Mother." I hissed. The priest stepped between us and tried to force my grip from her wrist.

"Do as she says, Vega. Let go. You can't tell her what to do. 'Thou shalt honor thy Mother…'"

"'Honor?'" I exclaimed, stopping in my tracks. "I worship her!" my eyes flashed intensely as I looked at him and she jerked away angrily. I could see however, that my words did nothing to soothe the priest, who folded his hands before him and regarded me warily.

"She can't make me stop bull fighting! She can't." I cried.

"And he can't make me worry like this! I won't lose my only son! It isn't fair to me!" replied Mother.

"Now both of you calm down, please! Vega, can I speak with you a moment?" said the priest, putting his arm around my shoulder and leading me a few steps away from her. The priest rubbed his mouth thoughtfully a moment.

"Vega, have you ever noticed how much time you spend with your mother?"

I knew what he was insinuating and I rolled my eyes. It sounded as if my father had been talking to him lately.

"I do plenty of other things. Besides, I have to take care of her. If I don't, Father will." I knew he understood the state of things at home and there was no denying what I meant.

"Yes, I am aware of the awful things your father has done and I have done all I could to help her. I'm afraid I couldn't do more without sanction from the Church."

I glared at him.

"Then, you haven't done enough." I said coldly. I knew I could never turn my back on God, especially since He had given me such wonderful gifts but the Church had failed us. My mother was a model parishioner and a good, obedient Catholic woman to her faith and the Church, and yet she was rewarded with nothing but hate and violence from her husband; a man she swore to love and honor for all of her days, no matter how bad. The Church turned a blind eye to it all. As I grew, so did her bruises and that was when I knew I had to protect her. I would become her savior when no one else would.

I looked at him indignantly, and went to rejoin my mother. I tried to take her hand but she whirled around and slapped me.

"How dare you disrespect me like that, in front of our priest? Before God!"

"Mama-" I stuttered, rubbing my cheek.

"You will not touch me, Vega Fabio de Cerna!"

She walked ahead of me, opening the door to the front seat and she sat next to the driver.

I sighed and sat in the back seat as the window to the front seat closed, blocking her from my view.

I knew then she was angry and that at that moment, there was nothing I could do. Soon, we were back at the mansion and she quietly went to her room, taking off her veil and laying her rosary on her bedside table next to a statuette of the Virgin Mary. I followed after her, to apologize.

She lay on her bed, sulking.

"Mama," I said softly, kneeling at her bedside. She turned her back to me.

"If you want to die by a raging bull, fine. I cannot stop you. Go on! Forsake your Mother, Vega. Go! " she cried, "Get out!" I slowly rose and did as I was told. I shut her door and paused in thought as I rubbed the back of my head with a heavy sigh. I could never forsake you, Mama...

I stood at the mirror, brushing my long golden hair and I smiled, admiring myself. The warm sun shone on it through the adjacent window, as it always seemed to and it shined like gold. Carefully, I ran the coarse-bristled brush through my hair, and I savored each stroke. Then I began to work it into a braid. I ran my hand delicately down my face, my fingers tracing each curve, each angle of my flawless face. Yes, my adolescence was kind to me it seems, or shall I say, my skin.

Today my victory was eminent and I was perfect. This was not just any mirror I stood before, but my mother's. You see, her room had the best lighting and the best mirror for my features and looking my best was always the most of importance to me, especially before a bullfight.

Mother came in, wrapping her arms around my waist, as it was all she could reach, now that I stood nearly a foot taller than her. I looked down at her, which I was used to doing by now, and smiled. Her familiar scent of roses and powder wafted up to my nose.

"Hola, Mama."

"Vega, why are you in here? Shouldn't you be in your room getting ready?" she exclaimed warmly.

"Sorry. It's just that your room has much better lighting and it's easier to brush my hair in here." I said.

"Mhm and you've been using my brush I see," she said, picking up the brush and running her fingers over the smooth wood. She turned to me and smiled.

"My, how handsome you are!" and she reached up, standing on her tip-toes to put her hands on my shoulders. I had donned my Matador outfit with one of my most favorite jackets—it was black with gold embroidery and beading. Mama ran her hands down my arms, feeling the texture of the beads and embroidery work. She wrapped her arms around me and laid her head against my chest with a sigh and I held her tight.

"Do you think I am beautiful?" I asked as I gazed down at her.

"Yes, yes you are my beautiful, beautiful boy!" my heart pounded a little in my chest to hear her say that, as she had said it a thousand times before.

"Do you think I am a god?" I asked, my pulse seeming to raise, my eyes flashed. My lips could not hide such irresistible pride. She stared up at me a moment, somewhat perplexed, and reached to stroke my face.

"No, Vega. You are Apollo, Adonis, Narcissus himself, my darling, but you are not a god. " I sighed in annoyance. She had already said it once before but now she chooses to ignore it? Now, of all times when I was the most perfect being standing before that mirror and she denies it! How could I tell her it would never be enough to hear such perfection come from such a beautiful, perfect creature as herself. For I knew I was as beautiful as she, and she as beautiful as me. The only possible person to ever be more beautiful than myself...

"Will you go watch me today?" I asked.

"No, Vega," and her expression now looked more serious.

"But Mama, you must!" I cried impetuously. She scoffed,

"Ai, I don't know why your father insisted you be involved in something so-so...barbaric! He wants to turn my son into a monster!"

I smirked,

"Mama, do I look like a monster?" I saw the worry and the guilt slowly creeping across her face.

"No..." she replied quietly, staring down at the floor. I smiled, swallowing a laugh, and I flipped my long braid behind my shoulder. I took her hand and moved behind her, moving my hand to her shoulder.

"Come with me," I whispered. "Please, please, please!" I pleaded with her impishly, and I nuzzled against the nape of her neck. She shrugged her shoulders, trying to slink away from me. I was beginning to feel impatient and I turned her to face me.

"Mama, I want you to come." I said gravely, stroking her cheek. She began to shake her head and I held her chin. "I won't take 'No' for an answer!" I searched her face, her eyes, frantically waiting for her to respond. "I need you." I said, and she gasped, her mouth sputtering but said nothing. She frantically shook her head, tears beginning to form in her eyes and fall down her perfectly pale skin. I rubbed them away roughly with my thumbs.

"I can't," she cried and closed her eyes, trying to make her fear go away. I held her for a moment, trying to make her stop crying—I could not bear to see her crying, for any reason. "She will be there, with him..." she murmured and I sighed heavily, my temper growing.

"And what if you got hurt? I-I...I couldn't live if you...I just couldn't!"

My father was a bastard but he always attended my bull fights. I don't know why he loved them so much, but he did. I suppose it was all the violence involved that excited him, as violence often seemed to and of course, he always strung along a young pretty woman. Now this young pretty woman was his Italian whore. A girl only a few years older than myself. She was said to be the highest paid courtesan in the country!  
Father assumed I did not know about her but I had been watching them together in the house for months. I only stayed quiet for Mama's sake, though I knew she knew and it put a knife in her heart.

"Oh my sweet mother," I cooed seductively in her ear, and my blood began to rise.

"Please Vega, please. Respect my wishes, respect me. I don't want to go," she moaned as she held onto me, her voice muffled against my shoulder. I could feel her trembling slightly.

I grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the wall next to her mirror. She let out a surprised yelp.

"This isn't about you!" I hissed. "It is about me!" her eyes regarded me tearfully with shock and fear.

"Don't you want to see that your son, your Adonis—your savior—succeed? To see them worship me as I know you do..." she was still quiet, save but to whimper.

"Come with me, and I swear—I swear—I will make them worship you as they worship me. All my glory will be yours!" I felt her writhing beneath my grasp and her expression turned to anger.

"God damn you, Vega!" she screamed. "Look what he's done to you!"

Angrily, I threw her back and she landed against the side of her bed, mostly cushioning her fall. She gasped and stood up slowly, glaring at me as she wept. My chest was heaving and I went to the mirror to smooth my hair and check my face. I then went and knelt before her, holding her so she would not fall.

Mama slapped me across the face with a furious cry and I raised my hand reflexively. She flinched and cowered down. I could feel my heart dropping into my stomach and I reached to touch her, but she pushed me away, and I fell to my side. My face still stung with the impact of her blow and I glanced in the mirror over my shoulder to see the red mark forming across my face, and then to my mother, who was still crying and trembling.

I ran into her bathroom, slamming the door hard enough to make it come off the hinges. I turned on the faucet and splashed the cool water over my face. I looked into the mirror. I smashed it with my fist, and I felt warm, angry tears falling down my face. I wiped them away with my sleeve and came out of the bathroom, quietly. Mother stood up slowly, cautiously, and I could see her fear.

Suddenly she gasped and ran to me, taking my hand in hers. It was not until I looked down I saw that I was bleeding...

I studied my hand, and small rivers of red that ran down it, dripping to the floor. I brought it to my lips and licked it. Appalled, Mama covered her mouth with her hand. I smirked at her expression.

"It's only blood, Mother." I said calmly.

I could taste the warm, bitter liquid on the tip of my tongue, tangy and almost sweet. I looked at my mother and I wondered for just a moment what she would taste like. I licked my lips in thought, and she shone like an angel in the afternoon light.

Such beauty must make you taste so sweet...

"Vega," said Mother, her voice raised in concern, disturbing me from my thoughts. "We-we have to fix your hand, dear," she said softly, but I could still hear the wariness in her voice. We went into the bathroom so she could dress it. She looked at me seriously as she wrapped some gauze around it.

"Do you think they'll let you fight today?" she asked.

"I don't know. Maybe...I am their star, you know..." and I grinned and she nodded quietly, looking down as she worked. She wrapped it firmly around my hand and I winced. I felt the warmth of her hand covering the bandage and she looked back at me, still the uneasiness showing in her eyes, mixed with her motherly concern for my well-being.

"My baby," she whispered wistfully, kissing my bandaged hand. I studied her face a moment and then smiled.

"I'll be okay, Mama." I reassured her, standing quickly before she even finished tying the bandage. I grabbed her hand and we hurried out the door.

The fight was the best yet, and knowing my mother was there, watching me from some of the best seats, made me even happier. She sat through the fight anxiously, biting her lip and gripping the end railing in front of her. Once I was able to glance back at her, to see her crossing herself with her rosary. I do not know many more times she had done it during the fight—I am not even certain she was watching if she was so busy with her rosary!

The crowd cheered as I stood before the fallen bull, a rain of red roses fell upon me. I smiled and waved to the thronging crowd. Mama stood from her seat in the front of the area and watched, though she did not smile.

"Vega! Vega!" people screamed at me, in an echoing ocean of sounds. I saw the lights flashing as a million cameras seemed to go off at once. I saw Mama standing motionless in the bleachers and I knew this would not do. I grabbed her hand and she let out a cry as I lifted her onto my shoulder.

"Vega! What are you doing?" she cried. I swung her around with a smile.

"Vega, do you have a moment?" said a member of the press. "Who is she?"

"Who's that woman?" a collective echo among the crowd.

Mother looked around frantically, overwhelmed by the millions of people who seemed to descend upon me. I smiled and waved to the crowd as photographers scrambled to get me to look their way. I lifted Mama off my shoulder and held her against me proudly. I kissed her cheek, looking at the camera from the corner of my eye. Then I caught a rose that came my way and handed it to her.

"She is my mother!" I said and the crowd cheered again.

"Mrs. de Cerna, over here, over here!" they cried. She looked at me, her blue eyes blazing.

"See, Mama...I told you they would want you." I whispered with a grin. "Look how those lights flash. They want you!" she blushed.

"No, Vega. They want you. You are the star; I'm just your mother." she said quietly.

"The Holy Virgin was not just any mother. She gave birth to the Lord Himself! For this, we praise her. You gave birth to me! You gave me life—tell me why you are not as important as I!" She looked at me and tried to smile, though uncomfortably.

"No. I want them to see you." I said, taking her hand and leading her to the center of the arena, taking a bow. She seemed to be suddenly mesmerized by all the flashing lights, staring into their abyss.

"You wore heels and pearls in your hospital bed, Mother. Don't tell me you don't like looking good. You want them to see you, the same as they see me and you always have! Where do you think I've learned to take such pride in my appearance? Look at them with their flashing lights, and this shower of roses." I exclaimed, turning to her, "They are a mirror for us—a mirror, showing us the truth of our beauty." I caressed her cheek lovingly, and she took my hand, squeezing it tight, smiling finally.

"Yes, beauty is the only truth in this world."

From that moment on, I knew that's how I would live my life—in beauty. Those who did not, were not worthy of life.


	5. And Out into the Night

She regarded me anxiously as I entered her room.

"You look beautiful, Mama!" I exclaimed; I smiled and kissed her cheeks ceremoniously.

She held the sides of her gown and looked away, her beautiful figure draped in a shimmery pale blue dress; a full skirt with a layer of shimmering opaque fabric on top. It had an off-the-shoulder bodice and exposed the pale olive-colored flesh of her décolletage, though it was not enough to be immodest; my mother, though she loved beauty and fashion, was often humble of her own appearance.

Her hair was done up in a chignon, curled tendrils of her golden blonde hair framed the sides of her face. She often wore it up, but now she wore a tiara and a diamond-studded barrette was on one side. Her blue eyes sparkled and gleamed like the diamond-studded jewelry she wore on her neck and her ears.

Tonight once again was the Ambassador's Ball and a million frightening memories ran through her mind. After all, it had been 3 years since that horrid night when Father had so brutally raped and beaten her in front of me, and 3 years since she had attended the very same grand ball, held each year by the Ambassador of Spain. She was so frightened by that night that she never wanted to go again but I knew this time would be different. This time, I could protect her.

I took her hands in mine to calm her and she clutched them tight, her eyes flashing as her mind raced. Finally, she spoke.

"Vega, I don't want go," she said uneasily. Her red lips quivered as she forced herself to smile at me, her only son. Their redness reflected on her skin with the warm glow of the lamp and the cool wash of the moon shining behind her. Her cheeks glowed softly red, flushed with color and then paled again.

"It's all right, Mother. I am stronger now, I can protect you." I said and her frantic eyes seemed to read the proud assurance that gleamed in mine. She swallowed hard, no doubt fighting back her tears and yet, she smiled.

"Besides, Mother, I think it's time all those men in their tuxes and medals saw you. They need to see the beautiful woman they can't _have_ , and Father needs to see the beautiful woman he doesn't _deserve_." She shut her eyes tight, pursing her lips, holding back her tears as best she could and then, she opened them.

With a trembling soft voice, she exclaimed,

"Oh! You look so handsome!" and she laid a hand on my arm.

I looked back in her mirror and then at her and I straightened my black tuxedo jacket with a proud nod. I did not prefer tuxes, and I was positive no other man did either. Still, I was dressed my best for this formal occasion, in a typical black tuxedo with white dress-shirt; my hair pulled back more tightly than usual into a long, blonde braid that hung down my back. Only scarce tendrils of my hair hung around my face.

"Shall we go, Mother?" I said, offering her my arm. She took her arm in mine and I could feel her trembling.

She looked at me, still quite unsure one last time as we headed out the door, and as she looked at me, I felt as though she had forgotten who I was for just a moment. Was I her son or her guard, I did not know. I was unusually tall for my age of 16 now, standing at nearly 6 feet tall, a full foot taller than my mother! Now, I was poised to guard her with my life and I held myself with all the confidence of an older man.

Mother and Father always took separate cars to events but always arrived together. It was a well-known secret in society. I was glad, as I did not think the two of them would live in the same space for long. We approached the Ambassador's mansion, and waited in the corridor to be announced.

"don Miguel Fabio de Cerna Domingo, the baron of Catalonia, and his wife doña Victoria Maria de Cerna y la Serda, the baroness of Catalonia; their son, don Vega Fabio de Cerna y la Serda." said the usher as my parents walked slowly down the red carpeted steps, arm in arm. I followed quickly behind, a proud smile on my face. As they broke away, Father shot an icy glare and held firm to her elbow.

"Don't wander far, _dear,"_ he growled. She quickly cast her eyes down and moved to the opposite side of the room. I stood next to her for comfort. I began to scan the room for suitable girls to talk to and maybe, do _other_ things with later...

"Don't worry, Mama," I said as I scanned the room. I started to move toward the dance floor where the guests were congregating and Mother grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight. Worry was on her face.

"Please don't leave me here," she pleaded.

"It's alright, Mother. I won't let the naughty men hurt you," I teased.

"It's-it's not the men I'm afraid of…" she stammered. She had absolutely no sense of humor when she was frightened!

I pulled her almost forcefully along, walking among the crowd of people.

"How nice to see you again, Mrs. de Cerna!" they exclaimed as we passed by. The crowd of people seemed to blur into a sea, their voices swirled around us. I looked ahead and saw my father and his mistress. He did not see us but his mistress caught me with a wink and swiftly turned him away so he would not see us as we passed. She and I had an uneasy peace in our house. My father openly flaunted her, making sure my mother knew she was in the house just to torment her.

We seemed to wander aimlessly among the people, not finding a single suitable person with whom to talk. Every now and again, handsome men would glance at my mother and give her a charming smile. She would smile back and turn away, like a shy girl.

Deeper and deeper we seemed go into the ocean of people and until we stopped in the corner of the room.

"Oh, Vega, why have we come?" she moaned, "It is only another excuse for him to lose his temper!"

"Because, Mother. You are a woman in society and society women have to make an appearance, don't they?" I said matter-of-factually and she knew it was true.

"I suppose…" said Mother, with a far off look in her eye, humoring me like a contemptuous child.

"And besides, you know as well as I do that Father doesn't need an excuse to lose his temper."

"Oh I always hated going to these things, you know! Your father only goes to get in good graces with the King and the Prime Minister."

"I thought he spoke often with His Majesty?" I exclaimed. "He talks as if he knows the King personally,"

"The truth is His Majesty cannot stand your father!" She said with a laugh.

"And how did you know that?"

"I overheard the King once at another political event I was forced to attend!" She said with a wink. "Our country has struggled much over the years in the arms of its leaders, and while your father might brag, he really has very little political influence left anymore."

"Yes, I know." I said with a sigh. "Shall we dance?" I asked taking her hand as a waltz began to play in the background.

She hesitated to move.

"Do you remember the steps I taught you, Vega?" she asked, as I took her hand in mine and wrapped the other delicately around her waist.

"Yes, Mother, very well." I replied as we began to move.

I felt her body tense as she pressed her cheek against my shoulder; I could smell the light scent of her powder and perfume.

"Relax," I whispered in her ear. "Let them see you." She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut.

"You can do this. You taught me, remember."

"That has nothing to do with it." she murmured and she inhaled deeply and sighed.

I felt her body finally relax as she posed herself elegantly, her arm bent and hand on my shoulder, lightly touching; she felt delicate in my arms. Mother smiled as we picked up the pace a little and I could see a light in her eyes that was no longer fearful. She seemed younger than she was just dancing with me, as if every turn and every step could erase the lines on her face, the scars on her body, and the fear in her heart.

Mother tipped back her head at each turn to strike a pose, and she began to laugh. This was something I had seen so little of but now she seemed to be a new woman. I could not help but to smile seeing the joy that spread across her face, an angelic glow all around her. The room spun around us and I held her tight. And then, the song was over. Holding fast to my shoulders, she fell forward against me, out of breath and still laughing. She wobbled on her high heels.

"I haven't had so much fun in such a long time!" she exclaimed, "thank you."

As my mother steadied on her feet again, I whispered,

"See, I told you. I knew you would be all right. Now they have all seen you and now they will all want to dance with you!" Mother grinned now, almost glowing.

Suddenly, the Ambassador approached us with another man.

" _Buenas noches_." said the Ambassador as he took my mother's hand and I frowned.

"Ambassador!" exclaimed Mother, emphatically striking her chest with her hand in surprise. I could not tell if she was merely exaggerating or if she was that surprised to see him.

" _Señora de Cerna_ , such a pleasure to see you here again. You know, we have wondered where you have been for the last 3 three years. Certainly, you are one of the loveliest baronesses in this country!" Mother blushed and looked down as if she were a coy girl. I bit my bottom lip and continued to watch this dignitary closely.

" _Encantada, Señor_ ," she replied softly.

"Good to see you again, Vega." beamed the Ambassador. " _Señora Victoría_ , have you met Baron Gualdera?" A handsome man, about the same age as Mother, stepped forward. He had dark hair and eyes, like most in Spain it seemed. I wondered where he was from.

"Pleased to meet you, _Señora_ de Cerna. I am Baron Marc Antoní Gualdera." And he took my mother's hand and kissed it. He caught my stern glance and smiled at me as he looked up from her hand.

"Uh-Ambassador, Baron, this is my son, Vega." said mother, laying a hand on my shoulder and gesturing towards me with the other.

"Ah, yes, Vega! It is an honor to see you again!" replied the Ambassador, shaking my hand. He beamed proudly at me. "I often attend your fights and I must say you are very good for your age! How old are you now? Eight-teen? Twenty?" I chuckled.

"No, I am 16."

"Oh of course! It must be your height that makes you seem so much older." I sighed and smirked.

"It's all right. I get that often from people."

"You _have_ to tell me all about your last bullfight! I am dying to hear," exclaimed the Ambassador warmly as he laid a hand on my shoulder.

The baron laid his hand on my mother's arm.

" _Señora de Cerna_ , you are very lovely. Would you like something to drink?" he asked her. Again I saw her cheeks flush pink against her pale skin and then I saw a look of terror suddenly come back into her eyes, as if something startled her.

"N-no, thank you, Baron. It is very kind of you…" he smiled and bought my mother's hand to his lips. She pulled it away before he could kiss it.

"Baron, _Si us plau_ , _perdona._ " He looked quite distraught at her reaction.

"Are you okay _, Señora de Cerna_? Have I said something to offend you?"

"I-I am fine," she stammered.

She smiled weakly in reassurance, the usual smile she had when she was sad or scared, and it hardly did anything to hide her feelings. She of course smiled often this night and I knew the reasons.

I knew she could feel my father's eyes boring into the back of her head and I looked quickly over my shoulder, but he was not there. It did not matter, though. His dominion over her was nearly omnipotent. She feared his wrath and we knew it was imminent.

I could not help to notice the young Baron, how handsome and beautiful he was—he was nearly as beautiful as me—still, I knew the look in his eyes; it was a predatory look of hunger and he was looking at _my_ mother.

I shifted uncomfortably as I listened to the Ambassador ramble on about his praises of me and normally, I would have devoted my full attentions to such a thing, but any moment now, that Baron would _have_ my mother and I could not allow it.

"Mother, are you all right?" I whispered, trying to break her focus on the man.

"Yes, Dear. I'm fine." she replied. She looked at me and I could see the fear still on her face.

"Are you certain? I can get you something to drink. You look as though you need it." Offered the baron once more, hoping to change her fearful expression. A smile spread slowly across her face.

"Yes, please," she replied as she took his arm. The Baron winked at me as they found the refreshment table. I watched them carefully, each gesture and movement made. They seemed to laugh and smile at each other, my mother occasionally placing her hand lightly on his arm. I scowled and bit my lip.

"You know, _Señora_ de Cerna, I would have never guessed you were Vega's mother!" said the baron as he scooped up some punch for my mother. She blushed and covered her mouth, only half-hiding her smile.

"Please…" she said modestly.

"Ay, on the blood of my mother, I swear, his older sister, maybe…but one such as you never looks as though you should be a mother."

"And what should a mother look like then?" she asked, bemused. "Older?" she said with a grin.

He smiled, admonishing to her advances.

" _Ay_ , please, _Señora_! I cannot be held responsible for what you say." And she giggled.

"It must be so nice having such a caring son!" he said, looking at me through the corner of his eye.

"Oh, ah, yes—"

"He must make you feel so loved, so… _safe_." And as the baron spoke, she turned to him sharply.

"What do you mean, Baron?" she asked, her voice lowered in suspicion. He laid his hand on her arm gently and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Oh now, _Señora_. Why do you startle so?" he said gently and she looked down in shame.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, looking up at him again nervously.

"Well, he's a bright boy, you know and his talents are to be admired by all. Still, I see nothing wrong with him being a Mama's-boy."

" _Mama's-boy_?" she exclaimed with a chuckle, "He is no such thing! He is strong and brave, very independent. He doesn't need me…" and she trailed off, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

Taking a sip of his drink and sensing this, he leaned forward to whisper into her ear.

"Boys will _always_ need their mothers. When you danced, it was easy to see the love he has for you." She smiled uneasily and then he spoke again aloud.

"You know, when they told us you had fallen down your staircase 3 years ago, we worried about you! We were told you would not walk again."

She gasped and he leaned in close to her face and stroked it gently.

"I know what happened…" he whispered and Mother's eyes filled with panic. "I want to help you."

"No, it isn't so!" she cried in alarm.

The baron cupped her jaw in his hand and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"It is not just a shadow in the light that shows under your eye," and he rubbed over a darkened bruise on her cheek gently once more. "Only so much powder can cover such a mark on your lovely skin," and she covered her eyes in terror.

"No, please don't," she moaned from beneath her hands.

"No, no, _Señora_ , don't be afraid," he said smoothly as he lifted her hands from her face.

"Come away with me."

"Baron," she said, her tone dropping seriously. "I am a married woman!"

"Ah yes, but you do not love him…" he asserted smugly.

"I've only just met you! I can't do such a thing, and I would never leave my son!"

"You don't have to leave him. He can come too, certainly."

"Baron…"

I sighed heavily and clenched my fists watching the horrid display before me.

"I wouldn't worry much about Señor Gauldera, Vega." said the Ambassador suddenly and I turned to him.

"He's always quite the charmer with women, especially at these events, and your mother _is_ quite lovely…" he explained as I looked to see the Ambassador staring at her.

"Excuse me, _Ambassador_ ," I said sharply, "but she is _my_ mother." and with that, I proceeded to the refreshment table. I approached as briskly as I could and I seemed to startle them as they turned to me.

"Oh, hello, dear! Are you thirsty?" asked Mother, her cheeks flushed.

"No, I'm fine, but you look like _you_ need a drink though, _Mother_." I said bitterly and she gasped.

"Vega—" she exclaimed angrily at my insinuation.

The baron cleared his throat at the tense situation and then gestured towards me with a grin.

"You know, you're very good for your age, I think!"

"What?" I cried as I was so focused on his attentions to my mother that I did not see that he had turned to me.

"Bullfighting, of course!"

I saw my mother sigh and roll her eyes but she said nothing. I knew how she felt about the matter of course; at least she had the sense not to bring it up in front of the man.

"So you've said," I replied bitterly, the bile beginning to rise in my throat. I did my best to swallow it down again.

" _Señora_ de Cerna, will you please excuse us a moment? I'd like to have a chat with your son."

"Of course." she replied with a smile.

The baron draped his arm around my shoulder and we walked in the opposite direction from my mother, walking nowhere in particular. We seemed to walk for a few minutes before we spoke.

"Vega, I see a lot of potential for you." he said after a silence.

"What do you mean?"

"Vega, have you heard of cage fighting?" I stopped and turned towards him.

"Cage fighting? What about it?" I exclaimed and he chuckled.

"Do you know of _Savate_?"

"Yes, French kick-boxing." I replied, he smiled and patted my shoulder. It was a crude form of boxing adapted by men on the streets of Paris through out the 18th century. It had since spread throughout parts of my country and other parts of Europe.

"You think I could be a cage fighter?" I asked, my interest beginning to peak.

"I'll be honest with you, Vega. I have never in all my years of witnessing bullfights seen anyone with as much power and grace as you. Such beauty is rare among those in your art!" I rolled my eyes. As much as I enjoyed his appeals to my ego, he had a blatantly obnoxious quality that bothered me.

"Baron, I appreciate your—" and I paused for the right word, " _enthusiasm_ but, I don't see—"

"I would sponsor you!" he interjected eagerly and I blinked for a moment in shock.

"Besides, call me Marc Antoni. 'Baron' is so formal and it and we don't really use it these days." I nodded in agreement.

It was true; in recent years, losing a dictator and regaining a king did nothing to bolster the power or prestige of having a title of nobility. My family kept their title and my father was very proud of his heritage, but I always knew he had ties to the _Generalissimo's_ _Regime_. Now the Ambassador was a long-winded man, full of pompous prestige that came with his title. Addressing Señor Gauldera as a Baron only seemed fitting to him.

"You want to sponsor me?"I asked, gesturing to myself.

"I would train you!" he exclaimed.

"Train me? Sponsor me?" I exclaimed. "Baron— _pues,_ Marc Antoni," I corrected myself, "are you telling me that _you_ know _Savate_?"

"Yes! I learned it when I was your age, actually. Kept me quite fit and I loved the challenge! Ay, there's nothing like the rush you get in defeating your opponent!"

"I know the feeling. Nothing's more exhilarating than out-witting a bull." I agreed and he smirked at me. I must say that even as I said it, comparing the defeat of a bull to that of a person started to seem no longer as exciting.

"Out-witting? Is that how you see it, Vega?"

"Yes, bulls are dumb, brutish animals and I am a man. I am smarter and more handsome than it, and it is my right to conquer such a dumb, ugly animal." I replied. I gazed across the room and he followed my gaze to my father. "Ugliness is a sin, an _abomination_ before God." I said resolutely. Señor Gaudera nodded knowingly and I looked at him, my eyes flashing passionately.

"Don't you agree?"

"Oh, yes, I do, but there is so much ugliness in the world, Vega! Why do you suppose that He allows it to exist?"

"I don't know but I know one thing: I'll never be ugly. Never."

"No, you won't, and judging by the press, bulls are not thing only thing you conquer!" he said with a chuckle.

"With my strength and agility, my beauty, all women want me. I have as many as I want and what I cannot have, I _take._ "

"My, Vega!" he exclaimed, "and how do they like it when you _take_ them?" I could hear the perversion dripping in his voice, a wicked grin on his face.

"Well, let's just say that the scars on my back are not from the bulls!" I replied with a smug grin.

True he did not have to know that half of those scars were from the ever frequent violent skirmishes with my father as of late.

"A real lady-killer you are! What would your mother think?" he teased and I whirled around.

"She doesn't know and she doesn't _need_ to know. My mother doesn't concern you!" I hissed angrily. He put his hands up defensively.

"Easy now, boy. I was only kidding. God knows that it would break a mother's heart to know half the things her son does without her knowledge!"

"And you! What do you know about my mother, hm? Are you seducing her with your charm, ready to catch her when you sweep her off her feet?" I sneered. The baron, still raising his hands stood as he sputtered before me.

"I meant no harm! It was only a little harmless flirting!" he exclaimed.

"I saw you: the way you touched her face and leaned in close to whisper in her ear, smelling her perfume!" I spat.

The baron stifled a laugh and raised his eyebrows, suddenly no longer threatened by me.

"Why? Isn't that what _you_ do with all the girls that _you_ seduce? Tell me, have you smelt her perfume?" he said as he finally released the laugh he held. "You know, I've heard what they say about you and your mother..." he said, his words dripping from his mouth like venom. I could feel my blood boiling, and he made it boil almost as much as my father did.

"You know nothing! Nothing!" I screamed angrily.

The baron seemed amused at my anger.

"Vega, a temper like yours is going to get you in trouble." he said ever so smugly.

I wanted nothing to do with this man and his smugness, or his intentions with my mother. I wanted now just to wipe the smile from his face with my fist.

I threw a punch at his face and to my surprise, he blocked it with his arm and I suddenly felt his other fist connect with the edge of my mouth. Before I knew what happened, I fell to the floor as he swept his leg underneath me. Holding the side of my mouth and horrified at the blood, I looked up at the smiling baron.

"You bastard! My face! My beautiful face!" I roared as I sat up on my elbows.

I could taste some of my blood in my mouth, the same bittersweet tanginess I had savored much as of late; though it did not taste as sweet, and I knew it was the taste of my own defeat.

His dark eyes twinkled as he smirked at me.

"This is your first lesson, Vega." he said, offering his hand. I refused to take it and a shocked crowd began to gather around us. "And- I was also going to say: that I knew it wasn't true…about you and your mother, but _someone's_ temper got the better of them…" he whispered through his hand and he smiled at me with a wink. I saw his dark eyes glinting with some sort of mischief as I felt my cheeks flush and burn with humiliation.

"Vega!" I heard the shrill cry of my mother as she broke through the crowd. She gasped as she saw me on the ground and tried to help me up. I was not about to be embarrassed by her though, and I reluctantly grabbed the baron's extended hand as he pulled me back up again. I tried to straighten my tux and the baron handed me his handkerchief. I wiped the corner of my mouth and frowned at the sight of my own blood staining his pure white handkerchief.

" _Déu meu!_ Vega, you are bleeding! Señor Gauldera, what have you done to my son?" she demanded, gently examining my mouth and then glaring at the man.

"I-I am very sorry, _Señora_. I didn't mean to hurt the boy. I was merely showing him some of my skill as a fighter." apologized the baron but at the mention of fighting, she scowled at him even more. I saw a fierceness emerge from her that I had so rarely seen in her growing up. It was not often she was brave enough to defend herself, let alone _me_. Her blue eyes flashed with anger and I felt her grab my arm tightly.

"Mother, I'm alright!" I protested, but it went unheard.

"He will have none of it! _None of it!_ Do you understand, Baron?" she hissed.

" _Sí, Señora_ de Cerna _._ I beg you will forgive me." said the baron with his eyes downcast and I believe he trying to show her he was truly sorry, but I alone could see the cold smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth; the same place where mine now bled.

Mother led me firmly by the arm now and I could not stop her.

"Mother, please! Stop!" I cried helplessly, nearly being dragged away. She was headed to the back of the room, towards an alcove with two large white marble pillars on either side. Adjacent to this were large French doors that held the corridor to the coat room—and the back exit. I had spent a lot of time in this alcove and even in the coat room seducing girls before this. It was also where my father liked to take his mistress to be alone…

"We are going home. _Now_." she said in a tone that I knew I could not deny. I finally freed myself from her grasp, standing in front of her so she could not leave. I held the handkerchief to my mouth, frowning contemptuously. Mother reached up and brushed hair from my face and looked at my mouth once more. She sighed heavily.

"Oh my precious _Narcís_ , what have you gotten yourself into these days?" I removed the handkerchief from my mouth and she reached to touch it. _Narcís_ was a nickname she had taken to bestowing upon me with mild amusement towards my growing concerns with my appearance. It meant  
"Narcissus" in Catalan and I believe it had a far better sound than the original name.

"May I use your compact, Mama? Please tell me you have it with you!" I cried desperately.

She smiled and shook her head, digging through her purse for her mirror and then she handed it to me. I touched my mouth and admired my face, ensuring no other damage had been done.

"What's going on back here?" said my father's gruff voice as we turned to see him coming towards us with his mistress hanging on his arm. Mother stepped behind me.

"That's right, Victoria. Hide behind your Nancy-boy..." he sneered and he ripped the handkerchief from my hands and I felt my stomach lurch at his slur of me.

"What's this, boy? I heard you were fighting, with Marc Antoní Gauldera!" I glared at him and tried to control myself long enough to speak.

"Yes..." I murmured.

"He's the wrong man to fight. He is an accomplished fighter already. You ought to be beat just for losing! No son of mine is a loser in this house!" he exclaimed.

"Leave him alone, Miguel! He's had enough punishment for one night! We're going home!" exclaimed Mother, bravely stepping forward. Father had a cruel smirk on his face as he approached her.

"Look at you, Victoria! One night at a dance and you've suddenly forgotten your place! We'll soon have to fix that!"

I could see the panic spreading across her face as she stepped back from him. I could smell alcohol on his breath, though I knew he did not need any to be cruel.

" _Signore_ , I think you've had a bit too much tonight." chimed in his Mistress, peering from behind his shoulder. He immediately backhanded her face and she went flying to the ground.

"Silence, bitch! You do not tell me what to do!" he roared at her as she was sprawled out on the floor. She nodded obediently as he pulled her up by the arm.

" _Señor_ , is there a problem?" asked an usher, alarmed by all the commotion and my father whirled around. The usher stepped back, somewhat frightened by his abrupt demeanor.

"Sir, others saw the commotion and were concerned. This kind of thing isn't tolerated here and we'll have to ask you to leave..."

" _Leave?_ " hissed Father almost shrilly, his tone rising. "I was invited by the Ambassador himself! I will not _leave!_ And I assure you there's no problem. Only...a _misunderstanding_." he said coldly as he looked back at us with a rather sinister glare. The usher nervously cleared his throat.

"I see. Sir, if you would please come with me. The Ambassador wishes to speak with you," he said, gesturing in front of him.

"The Ambassador! I haven't spoken with him all night! Please, lead the way!" exclaimed Father rather boisterously, his tone suddenly changed. I watched his mistress give me a rather helpless glance over his shoulder as he dragged her along by her arm. I felt Mother shaking as she pressed her face against my back and I knew she was crying. I turned and held her against my chest, her head neatly fitting under my chin. I rubbed and patted her back and she clutched my braid.

"I hate him..." she sobbed. "I hate him."

"So do I, Mama." I said softly as I gently pried her fingers from my hair and I could feel my body begin to tense with anger again. I bit my lip as I tried to push the recent embarrassment of my mother's interference away but it was no use. Her treatment of me was becoming increasingly unbearable and I tried to ignore the fact that her blackened tears were soon going to stain my clean white dress-shirt.

I sat in the back of the car next to her as we returned home that night, and she squeezed my hand with a far-off gaze.

"Mama," I said.

"Hm?" she said without batting an eye.

"What would you say if I promised to protect you?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"If I knew how to protect you, would you let me?"

"I-I still don't understand, Vega."

"Mama," I said seriously, looking at her and I shook her hand gently. "I can protect you."

She looked at me, her blue eyes confused and somewhat terrified.

"I'm going to learn to fight." I replied.

"What? No!" she cried, "I forbid it!" I laughed and shook my head.

"No, you won't. I'll do it anyway." Her eyes widened and she sputtered.

"Vega de Cerna, you-you will respect me!" she cried angrily. "I _forbid_ you."

"Respect you? Respect you?" I shrieked mockingly, "Respect you like Father does?" I sneered, grabbing her shoulders. "Oh! Like when he 'respects' you so much he beats you for _not_ respecting _him_!" and as I shook her she began to cry. I raised my hand and she cowered as she cried; but instead slapping her, I laid the back of my hand against her cheek gently, wiping her blackened tears. I leaned in close to her ear and said,

" _I_ would never hit you, Mama. I _do_ respect you. I love you. You should never fear the ones you love." I said as I took her hand from her face and she looked at me slowly. I took her hand in mine once more.

"I don't want you to be afraid anymore."

"And I don't want you to be like your father!" she cried tearfully. I grimaced at the thought; how could she possibly think I would become as ugly as he? It insulted me every time she accused me of being like Father whenever I found a new pursuit that she disagreed with. I sighed and rolled my eyes at her and I felt my blood beginning to boil.

"Learning how to defend myself does _not_ make me like him. I hate it when you compare me, Mother-and-and dragging me out of that room like I was some… _child_! Seriously, Mother!" I scoffed.

"I-I don't want you to get hurt and besides, you _are_ a child. You are _my_ child." she said, sniffing.

"A child?" I cried with a laugh. "That's not what you think of me when you look up at me with such fear in your eyes and I have to hold you until you stop shaking-"

_How could he speak to me this way?_ She thought frantically. _He's become so cruel lately. I don't think I can bear this much longer._

"Stop!" she interjected tearfully, grabbing my arm desperately, but I continued.

"That's not what you think of me when I sleep beside you each night, protecting you from the dark and those things that come in it—the very thing you should have been saving me from—I've felt his blows too, Mama. Or have you forgotten that I was not always your savior? Have you forgotten that it was _me_ whom you had to protect when I was a child?" I said, squeezing her shoulder, trying to make her look at me but she refused. Mother bit her lip and hugged her arms and I could see her muscles tensing, her knuckles whitening by the minute.

_I never knew how much he resented me. What have I done to him? He can't be speaking like this._

"No..no...no..." she wailed. _He can't know the truth...I never meant..._

"No, Mama. You don't want a child, no, no. You want a _man_ , don't you? A big, handsome strong man to protect you; keep you warm, keep you safe...you wanted-"

_No! He isn't! What is he saying? That I? Oh no. I suppose I have depended on him too long, but to have those feelings...does he truly understand what that means? I could never have those kinds of feelings for him...could I? Oh, dear God, if he should want me... He has to stop this!_

"Stop it, Vega!" she cried again. I grinned smug in my righteousness and my blue eyes flashed.

"... _Me_ ," I whispered, a wicked grin spread across my face, and I watched her gasp and sputter in horror of the truth. She seemed to tremble even more than before as I continued my ruthless tirade. "You were so helpless back then when you asked for my help; I helped dress you, I bathed your wounds. Do you think that is something that a _child_ should do?" My righteousness indignation was only eclipsed by the delight I took in making her suffer for her sins.

_Oh he's so cruel! Can't he see that he's hurting me? Stop!_

" _Basta ya_!" she screamed, covering her mouth. _Stop!_ Her thoughts and her words now echoed loudly in her mind. Mama had never screamed like that before and I stared at her in stunned silence and after an awkward pause, she continued. "I saw what happened to you tonight. Bullfighting, fighting. Why must you be involved in such dangerous activities?"

"Because are they are _fun_ , Mother! Something I don't think you know much about these days; and besides, I am doing it for _you_!" I sneered.

"You are not, Vega de Cerna! You are doing it for yourself. _Ay_ , what a _selfish_ son I have."

I snickered again.

"Selfish!" I cried, " _You_ are the selfish one. You are the one trying to keep me from enjoying myself!"

_I could never be so selfish! A mother could never see her son die. I wish you could understand...If I lost you, my heart would die. How then would I be able to survive around that monster without you? I cannot live without you..._ she thought.

She continued hugging herself and she stared out the window. I wondered what she could possibly see, trying to stare out a blackened window in the middle of the night.

"Mama, do you have any idea how much I make as a matador? Not only that— _the_ top matador in all Spain? I make enough to buy anything I want and still have more than enough to treat you as the queen you are. It will never be in question how you will live now. I was on 6 magazine covers this month alone!" I paused for dramatic effect, hoping the reality would soon sink into her mind and I continued, "Raoul, my manager…you remember him, don't you?" I said with a smirk. "He says that I am definitely one of the youngest matadors he's ever managed! I have a monumental success rate at my fights, in fact. You would know this, Mother, _if_ you came to any."

Indeed, it had been several months since she last attended my bullfight, even after I had gotten her to go with me. She looked like she was finally okay with it when she was there but I suppose I was wrong. Not even our priest could convince her otherwise!

_Oh so heartless and cruel...I cannot bear him anymore like this. So beautiful and so, so cruel. Did I make him this way? He grows more like this father everyday. It must be my sin...God, please, I know his beauty is a sin, and I have made him prideful, and I know I have sinned for admiring his beauty, but please, forgive me. Don't let him torture me anymore..._

"Vega, I do not wish to argue anymore. I just want to go home and sleep." She said finally. Her voice was getting hoarse. I knew she was tired and I knew she was angry, so I decided to drop the argument for the time being. She sighed heavily. _Thank you, Lord..._

"Don't worry, Mama. We'll be home soon," I assured her. I laid my head on her shoulder and looked at her lovingly, waiting for her acknowledgment—a touch of my face, a stroke of my hair, her serene smile—but none came. I could see her frown but she was silent. It was unbearable but I had no choice but to endure it.

The car finally made its climb down the long stretching drive way, lined with trees that slowly revealed our mansion. It stood like a hauntingly tall figure, illuminated only by the moonlight. I got out of the opposite car door and met the driver as he came around from the front to open my mother's door. I stopped him.

" _I'll_ do it," I said as I opened her door. The driver gave a slight bow and nodded.

" _Sí, Señor._ "

Elegantly she pushed her legs out of the door one at a time and I took her hand to help her out of the car; she looked at me wearily. We said nothing as I closed the door and we walked into the house. The house was quiet and dark. All of the servants had gone to bed hours ago and there was no one to let us in save the butler, who also was in bed when we arrived, as evidenced by his robe.

"Has my father come home?" I asked him.

"No, _Señor_ , he and his lady have not. Will there be anything else?" I looked at Mother and she rolled her eyes in disdain at the mention of her husband's mistress, and I shook my head. He shifted his gaze downward as he saw his Mother's disdainful look.

"Very well. _Hasta la mañana, doña_ de Cerna _y Señor_ Vega." said the butler with a polite nod and turning to go back up the staircase to his room.

Suddenly, my mother cried out in pain and I caught her as she slowly fell to the floor.

"What is it, Mama?" I cried in concern.

"Oh...it's nothing... My hips hurt, probably from the dancing."

"Can you walk?" I asked.

"I'm...not sure." she said, squeezing her eyes shut in pain.

I lifted her up by her arms and she stood shakily on her feet. I wrapped her arm around my neck and swept her body into my arms.

" _Està bé_ , Mama. I got you," I cooed as I started to carry her to her room.

She knew that anything too strenuous could hurt her again but this night, she paid no heed.

"Drunk off her feet again, I see." said Father as he walked in the door, his mistress in toe. I turned to him.

"I-I'm not drunk, Miguel." she said through her pain.

"Oh really, my dear? The way you _whored_ yourself around all night, men hanging around you like lost dogs, you flirted like a wanton slut with that baron...you could've fooled me! And now I see you've managed to whore yourself to your own son!"

"I can't walk!" she cried angrily.

He chuckled with a wicked sneer.

"Yes, no doubt from spreading your legs for so long! How was she, boy?" I nearly dropped Mother in my furor at his dirty insinuation, so I gently let her down on the cold marble floor.

He laughed even louder and I unbuttoned my shirt, rolled up my sleeves, and loosened my bow tie.

"Vega, don't!" cried Mother, side-sitting on the floor. "He's only drunk. I don't want any more trouble tonight."

"Victoria, you have disrespected me and my family tonight. Now crawl."

"What?" she gasped.

"If you won't walk, you'll crawl to me. _Crawl._ " he commanded.

I held out my hand to Mother and looked back at her.

"Don't, Mama." I said. She shook her head, large tears again rolling down her cheeks.

"He'll only be angrier if I don't obey him,"

"Don't do it!" I exclaimed. "I'm not going to let you get beat again. Let me handle this. I can do it."

"I'm waiting, Victoria. You promised to love, honor, and obey me, now do it!" he called. As he stood there, he undid his belt-buckle and unzipped his pants. He then forced his mistress to her knees before him.

"See? Even my own whore respects me more than you!" he gloated. Mother looked away, repulsed. My stomach churned and I turned away also, too disgusted to watch.

I squatted down to comfort her as she cried.

"Don't worry! It'll be okay, I promise." I whispered, trying desperately to ignore the depraved display before me.

"God you two make me sick!" he hissed, grabbing fist-full's of the Italian woman's hair as her head bobbed back and forth. "Perhaps you should breast-feed him you while you two are down there!" He made a loud grunt and stroked the woman's hair as if she were a pet, and then unceremoniously pushed her away, zipping up his pants. The woman rose, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, wobbling on her high heels and looking at him in annoyance. She gave us a concerned glance as she left the room, but I didn't care even if she lay dead on the floor.

"I'm going to slit his throat!" I hissed angrily.

"Oh God! Vega, no!" she cried, grabbing my arm.

I frowned and shook my arm free, starting towards the horrid lewd drunken man.

"Aw, come to defend your Mama, boy?" sneered my father as he tucked his shirt back in.

"You will never touch her again, old man!" I cried, throwing a punch at him. He blocked it, hitting me in the jaw and knocking me to the floor. He looked at my mother, his crystal blue eyes sparkling with wicked intent. She began to back away but she found herself against the wall.

"I guess some whores have to be taught!" he said as he came towards her. "How did you like my little demonstration, Victoria dear?" Mother cried and whimpered, resigning herself to fate. "Now, you should know by now when I command you, you will obey!" He reached down and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her up to her knees and pinning her face against his thigh. I recovered as quickly as I could and tried to lunge at him. She fought to push away but he held fast a painful grip on her hair.

"No, please, no. No, not again..." she wailed, her body shook violently and she could feel herself begin to paralyze in fear.

I tackled the old man with all of my strength, knocking him to the floor and my mother landed back on the floor, away from him. I quickly laid a solid punch to his stomach and a few to his face. I hit whatever I thought I could touch. As I hit him, a thought entered my mind about _Señor_ Gauldera and his _Savate_. What power could I possess with such a skill? For the moment though, I was happy to beat this ugly man's face to a bloody pulp. With a roar, he was able to push me off, drawing a pocket knife.

Before I knew it, he had me pinned beneath him, the knife inches away from my precious face. I put up my arms to shield my face and I felt the blade cut into my hands a few times.

A piercing scream shattered my concentration as soon found myself atop him again, the knife sticking from his chest, blood pouring from the wound. I was sweating and shaking, a rush of adrenaline and euphoria pulsing through my body. An irrepressible smile spread on my face as I saw the pooling blood beneath him and his eyes staring back with a dead light. I dipped my index finger in the blood and drew a cross on my forehead; I knew now I was the anointed one, the one that God had chosen to save her from the evil of this world, for if He had not ordained it, this man surely would not be dead.

In the back of my mind, the essence of reality seemed to creep back in as I realized my mother was lying helplessly on the floor. And so I crawled off the creature and crawled over to my pure and innocent mother, who was propped up by a marble pillar. She was still, her crystal blue eyes wide but lifeless and they seemed to sparkle distantly. She said nothing, and I was not even sure she was breathing until I felt her faint warm breath against my cheek as I leaned in close to feel it. Mother was as white as the marble she lay upon, as delicate as a statue. I touched her face cautiously.

"Mother?" I said, pressing my ear to her chest and listening for a heartbeat. It was there alright, her breathing was steady but soft. I pressed her hand to my cheek.

"Mother, I did it!" I cried anxiously. Her eyes did not see me, though I wished desperately that they had. I kissed her palm and held it tenderly. I gasped as I felt something wet beneath me and realized in horror that she was so frightened she had lost her bladder. My stomach churning in disgust, I scooped her into my arms, shakily continuing to carry her to her room. My euphoria grew as I held her in my arms, gazing lovingly at her and knowing that she and I would be free—free to start a new life.

Still, even in my haze of giddiness, I knew that it would only be a matter time before his whore saw what had happened. I knew we had to leave!

I sat Mother on the bed and she sat upright but unmoving. I rummaged around for a suitcase or luggage, all the while wondering where we could possibly go this time of night.

"Mama! We have to leave now!" I cried in vain and still she sat motionless. I saw her bible and rosary on her nightstand and so I picked them up to place in her lap.

I looked down and realized that my hands bled; my right hand had a deep cut across the front, where I had tried to defend myself. I ran to the bathroom and tore off my now bloodied dress-shirt and grabbed the gauze from the cabinet. I looked back at Mother, who still sat there quietly, though if I stared hard enough, I could see her breathe. I continued to look around her room for luggage and found a small bag tucked carefully under her bed. I remembered that bag...

"Someday we will have to leave, Vega." she said softly. "And if I am unable to get it, I want you to take this suitcase." she said, gesturing to a small carpet bag. "It has everything already packed. We won't have to worry." the small boy nodded obediently and wrapped his arms around her waist, she draped her arms on his back and caressed him lovingly...

I put a coat on Mother and sat her in her wheelchair. I was careful not to go passed the body that lay on the floor as I went to find the driver again. He gave me a puzzled look but nodded as he helped me load Mother into the car. I put my arm around her and held her close as we drove in the dark towards the border and she said not a word the whole night.


	6. Terrible Savior

We arrived in half an hour or so in _Monaco._

It was a coastal town, not unlike my home and while it was dark, I could smell the cool ocean air. It was peaceful and still, the city was bustling as we arrived at a grand hotel.

"Good evening," said the desk clerk as we entered. "You are arriving late tonight!" He said in French and I understood what he said, though I still much preferred Castillian or Catalan.

"Yes. We have just come from Barcelona, my mother and I." I replied.

"Will you want one room or two?" asked the clerk, now switching to my native tongue.

"It is only the two of us..." I explained. The clerk glanced down at my silent mother, concern etched on his face.

"Uh... your mother, is she okay?"

"She-she is fine," I stammered, though tried to hide my nervousness. "Only tired."

"Ah, one room with 2 beds I assume," replied the clerk knowingly and I nodded.

"Yes, there is room on the next floor that is perfect, I think." and he turned to get the key from a rack behind him.

"This way. Would you like some help with your bags?" he asked, noting the size of my mother's luggage. I stepped forward towards him, standing straight at my full height, and stood before the bag.

"That won't be necessary. I can take it," I replied confidently. He only nodded quietly, signaling a young man, and he proceeded into the elevator, with me following, pushing mother in her chair. Her bag was in her lap.

We arrived on the next floor, the bellhop unlocking the door and turning on the light.

"Will that be all for tonight? Please ring the front desk if you need anything." He said as he turned to me and held out his hand. I gave him a few large coins and with a nod, he closed the door carefully behind him.

I surveyed the two beds, they were the same size and I chose the right side. A large balcony window looked out over the city. I placed her bag on her bed and sat with a sigh.

She sat frozen and still in her wheelchair, staring out into nothingness. I had never seen anything like this before and I crouched before her, looking at her face as if I were gazing into a porcelain statue.

"Are you okay, Mama?" I asked

Suddenly, she fell to the floor from her wheelchair, landing on her knees. I crawled to her quickly and wrapped my arms around her tight. Mother was whispering now, something unintelligible and crossing herself repeatedly.

I tried to look at her but she would not see me. She only gazed at the wall, her blue eyes unblinking.

She thrashed from my grasp, turned away and reached for her bag on the bed, producing her blessed rosary. She was hunched over and rocked back and forth. I kneeled behind her and wrapped my hands around hers, desperately trying to comfort her and I could feel her body tense. This time she did not move and we were silent, but she held a white-knuckle grip as the rosary shook in her hands. Her lips moved now though I could hear no sound.

"You're praying, aren't you?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I pressed my lips to the back of her head and patiently tried to make her understand.

"It was _His_ will it be done.

_'Thy Kingdom Come_

_Your Will Be Done..._ '

Do you think He hears you now? He already knows what I've done and _He_ has _forgiven_ me because _I_ am your savior." I whispered. "There is no God in heaven nor demon in hell who can save you now more than I." I need not tell her that really the only heaven I believed in now was between a woman's legs and hell was wherever my father was.

She lifted her head but said nothing.

"Mama...he had no right to hurt you. No man has any right to hurt you." I whispered. She turned and sobbed in my arms, the heaviness of her body suddenly pressing against me, as though all of her sorrow crashed down upon her at once. I could feel her soft trembling body heaving against me as she cried, as alternately she rapt against my chest and clutched at my shirt.

"Oh God, Vega! What have you done?" she cried as she wept against my chest.

"You're safe now, you're safe." I whispered as I stroked her hair.

It seemed strange but as she cried, the harder she held me, the more it felt as though she was trying to pull away—as if I repulsed her—still, it was unthinkable to me. I felt her touching my face with her trembling, clammy hands and I pushed such an unthinkable notion away in my mind.

"Hold me!" she cried softly. I knew she could never resist as I laid my cheek against her head.

I stroked her hair and rocked her a little as I held her; how strange it seemed to me now that I held her as she once held me, soothing my fear; she cried so hard that she began hyperventilating and I wondered how long she would continue like this.

"He can't hurt you anymore, Mama. I will take care of you now." I whispered as I pulled the comforter blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her still shivering body. She wrapped the rest of the blanket around me and we huddled close together. I pressed my forehead against hers and whispered,

"Remember when we were like this? How scared we were, holding onto each other so tight, afraid to let go?" I smiled at her and she smiled back, a small hysteric chuckle escaping her mouth, her eyes gleaming with tears. She caressed my lips with her fingers gently. "I felt so safe in your arms then, like his blows couldn't touch us...but after awhile, I realized I could still feel them. I wanted to run away so far from there, take you with me. I _begged_ you to leave him, I _begged._.." I said and her smile faded, I could see more tears coming to her eyes as the anger rose in my voice. "You told me it was against _God_ to leave, against the _Church_ , but then I realized... there is no God who would ever let someone as pure as you suffer so-"

"Vega-" my mother warned me as her tears fell.

" _So_ much and I knew he had to die. God would want that." I could feel now my pride welling in my throat, or was it passion, I did not know.

"Are you _insane,_ Vega? You can't speak such things! I won't hear it! It's _blasphemy!_ " she whispered hoarsely, as if she feared God might hear us, putting her hand to my mouth; I pushed it away defiantly.

" _Insane?_ Insane?" I exclaimed with a wry chuckle, "I am not insane, no, Mama. I see it all very clearly. _I am_ your savior, don't you remember? You said it...from your own lips, Mama! _Your own lips!_ " I exclaimed. "You told me...when I was young...when I was young..." I began muttering the phrase like a mantra.

"N-no! I didn't mean it! I was...unstable. I was delirious. I didn't know what I was saying, and you! You were just a child. How was I to know you could understand?"

I stroked her face and smiled.

"Maybe I didn't understand that word, not then, but wouldn't you think that after all these years in Mass, I would know who the Savior was and what it meant?"

"I-I never said to kill him..." she wailed.

"You never had to. It had to be done. He's a monster."

"Monster..." whispered Mother staring at the floor.  
"Monster." she said again aloud and she looked at me.

"That's right, Mama. He's a monster."

" _You_ are a monster." she said but it wasn't in a cold or mean way. It was as if she were stating a fact. "You are a beautiful, beautiful monster that _I_ made..."

"No, Mama. You are confused. That's all." I said, trying to disregard anything she said. Such a sin was unspeakable from her mouth. I simply wouldn't allow it; but in truth, her words haunted me.

"There is no forgiveness for what I've done. Satan was very beautiful before he fell, and you are, too..." she said as she broke down into tears again. She had been through such a traumatic night, how could she make any sense? Certainly she wasn't now, but how was I to make her understand?

"Don't you see? It's my _destiny_. I am the warrior of God, and my purpose was to save you from your pain, save you from sin, save you from this life—and I have. I am your savior now. There is no one else. All we have is each other and you know that." There was no possible way now she could deny it because I was certain even she knew it to be true.

I pulled her to her feet and I sat her on the edge of the bed, going to the bathroom to wet a washcloth. Returning, I knelt in front of her and peered into her battered face. Her nose suddenly began to bleed, a river of blood ran from it down her mouth and I gently wiped it away, as I had done so many times before. She whimpered a little but said nothing as I dabbed the cloth against her face and I realized that in the adrenaline rush of that night, I failed to see just how beaten she really was. I had seen her in far worse states, however. Her eyes blackened, lips swollen and bleeding, her body dark with bruises of all shapes, colors and sizes. I had to wonder if Father had only spared her this fate the other night because of my intervention. Even in such condition, she radiated the same beauty she always had and I knew Father could never beat it out of her. I would always see it, no matter what.

Mother taught me when I was very young how to tend her wounds (as well as my own), something I learnt quickly. By now, I was a skilled expert. Of course, it was not always the case; I had to learn as the situation demanded it. My father was not as violent towards me as he was Mother, which was something to be said about how he felt towards her. He had some malicious hatred of her that I did not understand. If our faith had not forbade it, they would have been divorced years ago, my mother spared his bitter wrath, but because he had to live with her, it only made his hatred stronger. Why he hated her I did not truly know and Mother never wanted to say. I suspected it had something to do with her first marriage to a man who had died just before I was born, though I did not know the circumstances. Father accused her of infidelity and for being a gold-digging pauper, but I knew her better than that. While I had frequent proof of his infidelity, it was my mother who obediently loved him, and never tried to speak against him, though I know she wanted to do so. My father was a cold, imposing man who demanded respect and those he did not feel respected him were subject to his wrath. My mother unfortunately was the one who often incurred it the most. She feared it so much that she began to fear sleep, fearing that she might be attacked at her most vulnerable. He often threatened her that she did not need to be asleep for him to kill her, but nonetheless, she often came to my room at night, seeking some sort of comfort, hoping that he would not be cruel enough to attack us both...

I was awoken one night to sobbing as she stumbled into my room. This alarmed me, being awoke in such a way—fearing that something more awful had happened; that maybe someone had died or something—but I could see my mother's face in the pale darkness, illuminated by the moon as she stumbled towards my bed. The tears glistened on her cheeks, her eyes were dark and I thought that her left eye was obscured in shadow, only to see it begin to swell. A dark trail of blood ran from her nose down to her swollen lips, which bled down the corners of her mouth like some gruesome vampire. A bruise formed on the left side of her jaw like another horrid shadow in the darkness. Mother's body shook from her weeping as she continued to shuffle slowly forward like the half dead creature that she was. I sat up watching her, my heart pounding in my chest. I was unsure of what to do. Her mournful wailing was unbearable and my heart ached to see her like that.

Suddenly, she collapsed face down onto my bed, landing right beside me. I watched her weep, the bed shook now with her heavy sobs. I reached out to stroke her golden hair as she had done many times to soothe me. I paused, hesitant and afraid that she might break if I touched her, but I cautiously stroked her hair and she shattered beneath my touch. My hands trembled and I drew away.

"Mama," I said softly, "what's wrong? What happened?"

She only continued to cry harder and then she pulled herself up and laid her head on my chest. I brushed back her hair that clung to her tear-soaked face. It was then I beheld the true extent of horrors marring her beautiful face. I wrapped my arms tight around her, willing all my strength and warmth into her. Gently I kissed her forehead, the way she had always comforted me. She shuddered violently, whimpering and thrashing like a fitful child as she clutched at my nightshirt. I laid there, unable to sleep, as she slept with her head against my chest. I felt nearly crushed but at the same time, I wanted her to have some comfort.

This became a nightly occurrence, almost like a bizarre ritual. At first, climbing into my bed without a word and cuddling against me, and then it was _I_ sleeping in _her_ bed as I grew into a young man, sleeping beside _her_ each night. I was sad and overwhelmed by this display, and unsure of what to make of it, only to know that she was desperate and in pain. As time wore on though, it was nearly unbearable. I began to ask why she had to sleep with me. She would only tell me that she feared for her life. I began tell her to sleep in her own bed or to let me sleep alone in mine, but then she would beg me. No boy should have to endure their own mother pleading with them and still, I did. There was something so helpless in the way she looked at me, as if she were a child herself. Laying there, with my back to her, and her arms wrapped around me, I wondered why it had to be this way.

"Don't you see?" she whispered, "You're my savior now." she said it, smiling gently at me with all the conviction in the world, all the truth that I knew I could not doubt.

How little did I know how true those words were, beyond my comprehension; that _I_ could have the power to save her from her pain. In time, I _knew_ I was her savior.

As I hovered so close to her, I could smell the blood that ran from her nose and mouth. I sucked on my lip and tried to deny the impulse to taste it as I continued to wipe it away. When I was a child, as we huddled together in fear, it was something I could taste, just like her bitter tears. She would crush me against her breast as she wept, her head tucked down onto mine. Helplessly kissing and cuddling me, trying to comfort me though we were both so afraid. I could barely breathe pressed so tightly against her. Her kisses were bitter and salty, mixed with her tears that covered me like a black rain. Such were my comforts back then, and even now staring at what would be so gruesome to some, it was so beautiful to me.

"Vega, why do you look at me like that?" asked my mother and I realized I had been staring at her, the rag still in my hand and poised to touch her face. Quickly I shrugged it off.

"It's nothing..." I replied simply, and she put her hands on my face, her eyes sparkling warmly with her sweet smile. I could sense however, that she was about to lecture me again. How foolish was I to think she would let the issue rest.

" _Ay_ _!_ I love you _so_ much and, I forgive you, but I _cannot_ forgive your sin—no matter the reason." she said and I smirked to myself. I wanted nothing more than her love and her acceptance—but her forgiveness was not necessary—as I knew I was already absolved by God, though she would _never_ understand that. Still, I knew that her own sense of devout righteousness compelled her to tell me so.

"You've committed a _mortal_ sin, my _Narcís_." she said, her voice now had a sombre tone, and the sparkle and color seemed to fade from her eyes, her warm smile replaced with a cold scowl.

"But...how can you weigh one sin against another, Mama?" I asked, and I could feel my own righteous indignation begin to boil, my eyes flashed passionately. "I have only killed to _protect_ you, _honor_ you."

"I..can't," she said softly as she looked down and then she said as if it were an afterthought, "but you will never honor me by killing." and I knew the seriousness in her voice because she always took sin _very_ seriously. I was quiet a moment as I reflected on her words. It was not that they bothered me because I knew I was right and I would always be right, no matter what. If only the Will of God could make her see this then I _knew_ she would be proud of what I had done.

I pulled her to her feet and held her; she held fast to her rosary in the other hand. There it was and it nagged at me. It dangled there, taunting me, and I stared at it. It was not good enough for her that I had saved her. It was not good enough for her that I had nearly died in doing so. Was I not Christlike enough for her? I was the "anointed one", anointed with the blood of a fallen sinner...but no. It would never be enough for her. Gently, I tried to take it from her grasp.

"No!" she cried as she clutched it against her breast possessively. I took her face in my hands to make her understand.

"Don't you trust me?" I asked."You do not need it now. I am your savior. _Me._ "

"Yes-I mean, _no!_ It isn't right, it isn't..." she moaned like a wrathful child, and then she looked at me again, her eyes shining innocently, fraught with confusion. "But...but, you've killed your own father...you've _sinned_..." and she dropped her arms limply to her side in resignation.

"And aren't you glad?" I asked, studying her fearful eyes. "I have slain your monster for you. Aren't you _grateful_?" she looked at me as I emphasized the last word.

A large tear fell down her cheek and I could see her begin to crumble. "Yes." she replied and I smiled.

"Then _you_ ' _ve_ sinned, Mother." I said with a chuckle and she looked at me again bewildered, not entirely seeing the _perverse_ sort of irony of the situation.

"It's alright, Mama. Don't be afraid. God knows that you and I have suffered our share of sins." I said, the light of confidence shining in my eyes. I could still see how afraid she was, the uncertainty shown in her eyes of whether she should accept what I had done. Her body still trembled, and I rubbed her arms, trying to soothe her tremors. She pressed her head against my chest, her body almost too weak with fear, unable to stand any longer, wrapping her arms around my waist and replied with a wistful sigh,

" _Ay déu meu_ , listen to how grown up you sound. Perhaps it's all this talk of _God_ and _sin_...Yes, yes I'm glad you killed him. He-he deserved to die for all the things he's done, and I'm glad it was you who did it. May He forgive us, my darling." she made the sign of the cross as I wrapped one hand around her waist and quickly took the rosary from her other hand, throwing it out of sight.

That night as we slept side by side, I held her close. I knew she must still be afraid, but now it seemed if she was more afraid to let go of me. There was a sort of peaceful look on her face, instead of her usual fitful look she seemed to have each night. I smiled and stroked her hair, secure in the knowledge that I could give her this peace, for it was the first time in many years that she had had any. I was not sure what the morning would bring for us, alone in Monaco without a passport and only the money we had on us. Nor did I know how long we would be here, hiding from fate.


	7. The Hotel: Part 1

I awoke the next morning to a familiar feeling of warmth around my chest. I looked to see Mother's arms wrapped tightly around me, her chest pressed against my back. I squeezed her hand lovingly and she stirred from behind.

"Time to get up, Mama." I said softly.

"Mm, no, Vega. No, I don't want to get up." she murmured. "I want to stay in bed _all day_."

I smiled bitterly at her last comment.

"Mother, you're in _my_ bed, remember?"

"Oh, so I am." she replied sleepily without so much a care, and without opening her eyes. I sat up and stretched with a yawn. I tucked my shirt into my tux slacks and unbraided my hair to sort out the tangled mess it had become, letting it fall around me for the time being; Mother resembled something of a disheveled princess; her hair hang messily down her face, her makeup smeared across it, her dress was wrinkled, stained, and torn.

"Vega, you don't have to get up now. Go back to sleep, darling..." she murmured, gesturing towards me lazily with her arms. I chuckled as I turned to look back over my shoulder at her. She rolled onto her side, tucking her arms under her pillow. I knew she would have loved nothing better than for me to come and snuggle beside her, but I really wasn't tired enough to go back to sleep; after the turmoil of last night, or what was early this morning, I slept more deeply than I had in a long time. The morning sun beamed brightly through the windows, washing the room in a brightness I haven't seen in a long time. Mother had pulled the covers over her face.

I sat there a moment, listening to her soft breathing and I remembered the bag we took in the hurry we were in, realizing that we had nothing else with us. I had not seen this bag since I was very young, and I hoped there would be something, anything to use. I stared down at the little bag for a moment, almost afraid to open it. Finally, I opened it to dig through its contents; a few dresses and what looked like a child's clothing— _my_ clothing—was all it contained. I threw it back onto the bed and turned back to Mother.

"Mother, there's nothing in here! Just some _toddler_ clothing!" I cried as a sudden panic began to wash over me.

"What?" she exclaimed, bolting upright, frantically brushing the hair from her face. "That can't be right!"

"Why didn't you ever update this bag? How could you do this?"

"No no no!" she cried, flying out of bed and rushing over to the bag, frantically rummaging through it. "That can't be right! That can't be!"

"I don't understand!" I cried, my voice strained, rubbing the back of my neck. "How could you?I just can't..."

"Ohhh, Vega, my darling! I'm so sorry! I really thought I had... I wanted to leave. I planned to leave not long after you were born...but, as I was packing, I knew we had no where to go, no way to live. I did not want to put you through that kind of life!"

I turned to her.

"And what kind of life is _this_? What kind of _life_ did you have letting a man beat you, rape you, and almost _kill_ you daily?" I hissed. I could see her tear up. " _God!_ Are you some kind of _masochist?_ Do you _enjoy_ pain?" She gasped and covered her mouth as I began to stomp off to the bathroom. I braced myself against the counter and stared at my hands, my jaw clenching. I saw her coming towards me and so I slammed the door.

"I'm sorry, Vega! You know I wanted to leave, but I couldn't let you suffer!" I heard her plea.

" _Me?_ " I shouted from the bathroom. "Me? How would I have known any different? I would only suffer without _you_." I opened the door and she threw her arms around my neck desperately. I recoiled and shoved her off violently.

"Don't." I growled.

"Don't be like that! Oh Vega, _please_ try to understand! I couldn't leave, I didn't have a choice!" she continued pleading and put her hand to my shoulder. The very presence of her touch infuriated me. I turned away from her quickly.

"You _could_ leave, you _did_ have a choice!" I roared.

"There were circumstances beyond my control,Vega! Things you could never understand!"

"You're right. I don't even understand _why_ you married him!"

She was sobbing again, shaking her head.

"You could never know what I had to do...I-I had to..."

I shoved her away and then grabbed her by the wrists, backing her towards the wall and then slamming her against it.

" _What_ don't I know, Mother? Tell me! _Dear God!_ You really _are_ a masochist, aren't you? Is this what you want?" I held her in a tight grip and she continued to whimper and plead all the more. "Hmm? Is it?"

"No, Vega! Please, my love, don't do this...I beg you." and I could see her eyes widen and gleam. I felt a certain sense of intoxication then, the essence of power seem to flow through me as my righteous indignation grew.

How dare she make me suffer all these years? To make me suffer for her sins before I even knew I was her savior. To make me bleed for nothing...

I had a sick feeling in my stomach as I realized my father's words were coming true—she was nothing but a gold-digging whore! She wanted money _more_ than _me_ , _more_ than our _happiness_.

"I didn't mean for it to happen! I didn't!"

She continued to plead with me, but I could not hear them through the blood rushing in my ears and my heart thumping my chest.

" _Liar..._ " I growled. "Liar!"

I slapped her across the face, the force of which nearly made my hand go numb. She stumbled backwards as I barreled towards her, striking at whatever I could reach. Mother blocked her face with her arms, trying to shield herself. As she tried to move away, she tripped and landed in a heap on the floor. She lay curled in a ball with her arms covering her face, sobbing hard.

"Stop, Vega, please!" she cried. "Have mercy! Where is my beautiful boy, my beautiful savior? _Where_ is he?"

My jaw and fist clenched as I stood over her, my burning anger beginning to well in my mouth like hot venom as I picked up the bag and beat it over her a few times and threw it at her head, the contents scattering.

"There's nothing in here! _Nothing!_ " I roared.

Slowly, she uncovered herself and looked up at me, pulling herself up on her arms.

"Vega, the next time you beat me, you had better kill me. I can't...I can't live like this..." she said softly.

Her words seemed to cool my temper and I fell to my knees beside her. I sat there, panting, and staring at the floor.

"Mother...don't say that. Please don't say that...I could never..."

Mother reached up suddenly, slapping my face. I was stunned but after my outburst, I had no more anger left—only my guilt.

"So help me, Vega! So help me... _por dios!_ If you _ever_ hurt me like that again-" she hissed, collapsing on her arms.

She held her hand to her face as the corner of her mouth began to bleed. I reached out to touch her and she flinched; I felt my heart fall into my stomach.

"Forgive me, Mother." I whispered as she wept.

Tearfully she looked back up at me, a streak of blood poised itself on the corner of her mouth and she pulled away as I reached to touch her again.

"You're bleeding." I said.

"No, don't-don't touch." she replied again, shielding her face.

"Please, let me see." I pleaded, trying to pry her hand away from her face.

I took her hand in mine and kissed it, but she would not look at me. Gently, ever so gently, I lifted her chin to inspect the damage I had done and she kept her eyes closed. I admired that streak of blood poised at the corner of her mouth, shining like a deep red jewel. I could not deny the allure it held, its sweetness, but fought the temptation to taste it.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again. "Forgive me." I could see her fear and hesitation in her eyes as I leaned forward slowly and I kissed her cheeks. My tenderness did nothing to console her however, as she continued to sob. I could taste the salt of her tears, and the sweetness of her blood on my lips, as divine as ever. I could not understand her lack of acknowledgment, hoping for some sign that I would be forgiven. Then, like an answered prayer, she reached up and stroked my face, staring tearfully up at me. I was relieved as she threw her arms around my neck, burying her face in my chest. I could feel her desperately fondling my long hair as she cried, it cascading over her like a darkly golden waterfall. and I could "I..I need you..." she sobbed, "and it sickens me. You are all I have and I hate it, but I need you." she said and her tone was both sad and angry at once. It was in this bitterness I could hear the same sad desperation that I had always known. As well as hunger, a hunger I knew she could not deny, if only for true love and affection. Our love was the purest and truest love out there, a bond that could never be torn asunder, bound by flesh and blood, stronger than any lovers', stronger than family; though I knew that she hungered for more.

"I need you too, Mama." I replied as my heart welled up in my throat and my chest tightened as I held her close.

It seemed hours had passed before we let go, sitting in silence. In reality, I'm sure it was only a few minutes, but feeling as close to her as I did just then, it was like an eternity.

"Oh, Vega. I don't know what we're going to do. I don't know, I don't know. It's my fault. All my fault for letting this happen to us. We're all alone now, we don't have our passports or clothing to wear!" Her tone became increasingly louder and I could see the panic spreading across her face again. I put my hands on her arms as I pulled her to her feet.

"It's okay, Mama, it's okay." I consoled her. "I'll take care of you now."

I wiped her her tears away and kissed her cheeks feeling almost paternal as I did so. She smiled weakly, chuckling as she looked at her dress.

"I'm a mess!" she exclaimed and she broke into hysteric laughter.

I smiled back at her.

"You're perfect."

"You're so funny! Oh, I really need a hot bath right now a-and a new dress!"

"Well, I mean it." I replied seriously.

"I _know_ you do, darling; even if I _do_ take a bath, whatever shall I wear?"

I pulled out one of the dresses, a blue short-sleeve dress, with a distinctly 60's style. I frowned as it dawned on me. She really hadn't touched this bag in at least 16 years!

"What about this?" I asked, holding it out. She saw it and gasped.

"No, not that one. I can't wear it. It's horridly out of style, and..." and she trailed off.

"Well, we can go out and find _new_ clothes, better ones." I replied simply.

"It's impossible! How am I to go out looking like _this_?" she asked, holding the sides of her skirt.

"Well, you could go out in your lingerie!" I exclaimed, falling back on the bed in laughter. Mother scoffed and rolled her eyes at me.

"You are so crude sometimes! All right,I'm going to take a bath now." as she went into the bathroom.

"Okay, Mother." I said with a grin. It was a strange kind of happiness I felt just then, almost surreal. Perhaps it was giddiness, a relief from the horror we had been living before, I wasn't sure, but my heart soared at the thought of our new found freedom together.

I decided to put on my tux again, realizing there was not much else to be done. How we were to survive in Monaco like this, I did not know. It was a fact I did not wish to declare to Mother as she was already worried.

An hour later, she emerged from the bathroom in a white bathrobe and her hair wrapped in a towel. Her skin glowed with all her makeup gone. Mother smiled as she saw me in my tux, which soon faded as I turned to her and she saw the blood stains on it.  
"The blood!" she cried, "The blood!"  
I brushed it calmly as if I were brushing away lint and put on my jacket, folding it closed. She walked up to me and touched my face solemnly and then ran her hands over the stains, taking a rag and beginning to rub vigorously over it.

"Mother," I said, gently taking her hands away. "It's not going to come out."

She looked at me mournfully and nodded, taking the towel from her hair.

"You should get dressed. You'll feel better!"

"I-I don't think I can do this!" she cried.

"Mother, we'll get you a _new_ one, remember? Even prettier...maybe a nice blue one?"

She scoffed at me and picked up the disheveled gown, disappearing once more into the bathroom.  
Soon, we were ready to go, with my mother's hair back in place and her makeup done. She even wore the tiara in her hair. She stood at the full-length mirror and prodded at her face, looking at the heinous black bruise forming near her eye.

"Here, Mother." I said and handed her her large-framed sunglasses. She wrapped her arm around mine and once again, we made our entrance back into society.

We entered the elevator and made our way downstairs, stepping out like celebrities—well, _I was_ a celebrity—after all.

We walked cautiously as people stared at us. Although it was morning, I still saw people dressed in gowns and tuxes, no doubt from the night before. Soon it began as it always did when I was in public—the whispering—and I knew soon lights would begin to flash.

" _Señor_ Vega, _Maestro_!" voices began to shout.

I paid them no heed as we made a deliberate stride towards the door. It was no better as we went outside as I heard a collective gasp and then my name,over and over again.

" _Señor_ Vega! _Monsieur! Maestro_!" they cried again. Men and women standing there in groups, waiting for cabs.

"Please, we have to keep going. I can't look like this in front of them!" Mother whispered to me urgently.

"I _know_ , Mama. I'll try." I whispered back, knowing just how tenacious my adoring public could get. Ordinarily, I reveled in such thing but I knew we couldn't afford it now.

It was no use. Now they surrounded us from all sides, talking at once, reaching for me, waving pens and papers.

"I'm sorry! No autographs today!" I exclaimed to them as we tried to walk through the crowd.

" _Señor_ , what brings you to Monaco? Is there a bullfight this weekend?" asked a man.

"No," I replied. "Just on vacation."

"Who is this woman? Your mistress, Vega?" Mother tried to push through them and keep her sunglasses on at the same time. Then the flashes of light began as people scrambled to take pictures of us.

"Mistress?" Mother cried. I couldn't help but laugh at her flustered expression.  
"You _are_ the mistress of the house, aren't you?" I teased and she looked away. "Haven't you always wanted to be the mistress of a famous matador?" I nudged her shoulder playfully and she scolded me.

"Vega!"

It was true that I often enjoyed teasing her, but I did not want to cause too much of a scene this time. "Shh, Mother! I'll protect you, just be quiet, okay?" I whispered, hoping no one was within ear-shot to hear us.  
"Vega! Vega! What happened? Can you tell us why you have blood on your tux?" cried another man, pushing towards me. I didn't see a camera on him fortunately. I felt Mother squeeze my hand nervously, I looked to see her face suddenly turn pale.

I looked down nonchalantly as I thought of a story to tell.

"There was a fight late last night and I was trying to protect this beautiful woman-"

"Vega, stop. You mustn't!" whispered Mother but I continued, ignoring her.

"We were leaving a restaurant when a man began to harass us. He was drunk, so I thought I could handle him."

Mother suddenly tore away from me, running back inside the hotel. I followed after, grabbing her by the arm just as she found her way to the hotel restroom.

"Mother, wait!" I cried and she turned back to me sharply.

"Let me _go_ , Vega!" she cried, bursting into the women's bathroom. I stood there as the door slammed in my face. I grimaced as I heard her retching and then the flushing of the toilet. A few moments later she reemerged, the color returning to her face. She looked at me and then proceeded to enter the elevator.

"Where are you going?" I called after her.

"Back to the room. I won't do this. I won't be apart of your lies."

"We have no choice! Would you rather I tell them what happened?" I cried. She looked at me with a scowl and stepped out of the elevator.

"Vega de Cerna, you'll do no such thing!" she hissed as she approached me.

"No, _no_ , Mother. _Of course_ not! Do you think I _want_ us to get caught?" I cooed and took her hands into mine. She sighed heavily and I turned back towards the door to see the crowd of people pressed against the glass, watching us.

"Come on," I coaxed her as I led her by the hand back out the door.  
We continued on passed the crowds without another word.

It was true that in our haste, I had failed to realize that being a world-famous bullfighter did not make for easy hiding. I knew that my agent was looking for me now, and that probably the police were also. I could not let that stop me, however. I had to protect my mother at all costs, even my own life. Even if the police found me guilty, God found me justified.

We were able to find some new clothes at the fine boutiques in the area, and I exaggerated my story as the tailor questioned my stained tux. Mother gave me a few concerned looks the first few times I told it but soon she stopped. I continued to have enthusiastic fans approach me, though as we paraded through the stores, few actually stopped us. I kept my promise to Mama, however and we did not leave the room for quite awhile after that day.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	8. The Hotel: Part 2

I was a fool believing our life on the run would be some kind of grand adventure! That I would know the same comfort and excitement as home. I fled with my mother out of fear, not thinking ahead and not knowing, but the truth was it was far more stifling.

The ordinarily sweet rose smell of her perfume became as stale as the air between us and I wondered if we would ever be so close again after being together like this for so long.

Mother continued to worry as she always had, and she tried to put on a bright face, be cheerful, although I could see she was as unhappy as I was; but I was determined to at least try and make the best of our situation. True I was still young and naïeve, but I spoke with the wisdom beyond my age, perhaps because as my mother said, she never treated me as a child. I had gotten us into this situation and I would get us out.

For days on end, we were holed up in the grand hotel, floors above the busy streets in Monaco. The days began to blur together like a surreal dream and it was one of these endless days when we sat around in the room, when I heard a familiar sound coming from the radio. Mother was sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed, eyes closed, her head resting on her fist. An aria from _Madame Butterfly_ was playing. Her favorite: " _Un Bel di Vedremo_ "; I looked to see the tale-tale tears streaming down her face as her eyes were closed. Mother always cried at this song, _always_. I understood the significance of this song. It spoke of a lost love, a love that they would wait for for forever, though they knew it would not come...

I watched her for a moment and then bent down and kissed her cheek. She startled and then looked up at me with a warm smile, pressing my cheek to hers.

"It's all right, Mother. Don't cry." I cooed. She sniffed and blotted her eyes with a tissue, smiling.

"Oh, dear. I was crying again...I'm alright, darling." she said.

"Mama, I've had a wonderful idea! Let's go to the opera tonight. I heard they were playing Puccini's _Madame Butterfly_."

"Go out?" she asked and I could see her hesitance. "Oh, I don't know."

" _Sí_ , Mama! Of course you want to go! It's your favorite opera, after all.

"It is..."

"And it'll be dark in the theatre! Dark when we leave. I think it'll be fine." I said, doing my best to push the odds in my favor. It was not so much that I wanted to see the opera, but rather that I wanted a chance to leave that despicable room, only for a little while and if it meant making my mother happy as well, then it was worth it.

And so, that evening, we dressed into our formal clothes and took a cab to the opera. Mother glanced nervously about the room as we sat in the auditorium, awaiting the opera to begin. I smirked at her and adjusted my bow-tie.

After a while, " _Un Bel di Vedremo_ " began and I looked over to see my mother crying silently. She had been crying intermittently throughout the opera but now her tears fell in large drops down her cheeks. I put my hand over hers and stroked it gently with my thumb. She began to dab at her eyes with her white silk handkerchief. I smiled as I watched her, amused at her attempts to stifle her tears, though she pretended not to notice. And then, without looking at me, she took my hand and laced her fingers through mine. I felt a great sense of satisfaction as we sat there; I mean for one, I was out of that forsaken hotel room, and for another, my mother was—at least for the moment—content. Nothing could have made me happier! I tried not to think of the dreary prospect of having to return the hotel after this, even though it lingered in the back of my mind.

That night, after a particularly restless night of watching my mother sleep yet again, I could no longer stand it. It was the middle of the night, and though this was not Ibiza, I was able to finally enjoy the sights and sounds of the city for myself.

I wandered outside the hotel and began to walk around. I saw glittery lights of the casinos and other luxury hotels, and dim lights of the boutiques as I passed. A few people saw me but only pointed and whispered. I wandered down the street, not going any particular way, until I reached what was the end, or looked to be, in a deserted part of town. It looked like an old abandoned building but there was a light on inside. I could hear people and music. I approached a big man, who looked to be the bouncer. I paid him a few of the local currency and he let me inside after a suspicious glance.

There was a huge crowd of people gathered around a large caged arena. Two men fighting viciously, bleeding from end to end. Around me were other big men, muscular men, who also looked like fighters; I saw a large, burly, dark-skinned man in blue boxers. He was bald with an eye patch, his bare hands and feet were wrapped in a white cloth, a large scar gaping across his muscular chest. He was easily a foot taller than me.

"Impressive, isn't he?"

I whirled around to see Marc Antoní Gauldera standing before me, that same smug smile on his face.

" _Señor_ Gauldera!" I exclaimed.

"It's good to see you again, my friend. What brings you to something like this?"

I thought a moment, careful about my words. I did not wish to expose myself so suddenly.

"We're on vacation." I said.

"Oh, you and your family?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrows. I wondered if he would suspect anything.

"No, just my mother and I."

"Your father did not come, eh?"

"No. He never likes these sorts of things." I replied simply. Which was the truth of course; he never did.

"What a pity," he replied with a grin, his eyes narrowed.

"So how is it you know my family, _señor_ Gauldera?" I asked, folding my arms and shifting my weight.

"Oh, you know, the usual **_bourgeois_** events!" he replied sarcastically with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Your father and I have been friends for many years, _if_ you can call it that. He is not an easy man to know. Now your mother, on the other hand...where was it you are staying then?" and he held his usual smug grin, a sparkle in his eye as he spoke of her. I was slightly caught off guard as he suddenly veered toward the topic of her.

"Uh, just at a hotel nearby. It's nothing special." I said with a shrug.

"I really must come and visit, then." and he put his arm around my shoulder. "But _this_ , dear boy, _is_ something special." he said as he gestured to the cage.

I was transfixed as I watched the men inside the cage. The graceful sweep of the leg as it connected up and the foot hit the other man in the head, the sheer brutality as the others fists hit his stomach. Through the haze of the cigarette and cigar smoke, the light shown down on the fighters like a heavenly beam. Their bodies glistened with sweat and blood, glowing from the diffuse light above. The men were not particularly handsome to me, with such big burly bodies, square faces and close cropped hair, they were as ugly as _sin_ but in the light they were as merciless angels, showing me my very own destiny—salvation would come in blood.

"This enthralls you, doesn't it, Vega?"said Marc Antoní, looking at me. I snapped from my thoughts a moment.

"Yes..." I said as I continued to stare into the cage.

"If you want to learn, I will teach you." he said as he laid an affectionate hand on my shoulder.

My eyes sparkled and I bit my lip, trying to suppress an anxious smile. I felt him squeeze my shoulder.

"That's my boy. I knew you wanted it."

I did, in fact, very much. I walked to the cage now, mesmerized by the scene before me.  
The smell of sweat and blood, the heat of the light and the bodies engulfed my senses with familiarity as I thought of the times I had killed all of those bulls. Now it seemed the taste of human blood was sweeter.  
The two burly men, one a little taller than the other with a bushy thick black mustache as thick as his muscular frame caught my eye as he circled his opponent again for another round. He glared at me and made a kissing gesture at me. I smirked with a glare, folding my arms and watched him carefully. I could feel my blood rise, my heart pounded in my ears, and a shiver went through my body. Such primal energy, the savage grace with which they executed their moves; they were as beasts, ugly, wicked beasts, acting like beasts, and willing to die like beasts. I found myself running my hands over the cage, moving as they moved, circling the cage, like a prowling tiger, not taking my eye off the mustachioed man for a second. Suddenly, the fight was over, the mustachioed man was the victor, the other man laying in a bloody heap at his feet. Without warning, he spit at me! Savage grace, indeed. More like _savagery_! He continued to make an obscene gesture at me, and I did not need to guess what it meant.

I flew back away from the cage as it opened and the winner stepped out. Marc Antoní patted my back as I regained my composure. I flinched at his touch and he drew back.

"He makes your blood boil, doesn't he?" he asked with a smirk.

"Yes!" I cried, still staring at the brute.

"He makes you want to tear him apart..." whispered Marc Antoní into my ear. I nodded complacently.

"I want to rip him apart with my bare hands, taste his blood..." I said.

Marc Antoní must have found my riled state amusing, as he did with his usual cool humor and he began to chuckle at me.

"I understand, Vega: Taste their blood and you will taste their power." It was a simple statement and I knew in my heart he was right as I had recalled many times when my father taught me the lore of our ancient people: the gladiators of the Roman Empire; and of the Natives of the Americas who drank the blood of their victims. To drink the blood of their enemy was to take their power, he said. The thought of it, to take their power and imbue it with my own would be nothing but ecstasy.

I felt a light touch on my shoulder as I turned to see a woman standing next to me. She was a young woman, who looked to be only a few years older, blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail atop her head and curled bangs, she wore a tight pink halter top dress that was cut to her thighs and it accentuated all of her curves, and matching high heel pumps that elongated the curve of her legs. Hot pink lipstick was on her thin lips, coated with a shiny gloss. It revolted me, truth be told. She was smiling suggestively and rubbing the back of my ear with her finger.

"You seem to be enjoying the fight. Maybe you'd enjoy it more with some company?" and she eyed my crotch. I folded my arms, not really trying to acknowledge her silky touch, though it gave me shivers. She was not the first easy woman I'd handled, as I had already become well-seasoned with my father's mistress and most of the maids at home.

"Now Babette, I'm sure we could _both_ be worth your while!" teased Marc Antoni and I narrowed my eyes.

" _Monsieur_ Gauldera! It is a pleasure to see you again this week!" said the whore as she recognized Marc Antoní. "Now _that_ would be double!" she exclaimed with a flirtatious laugh, and she ran her hand down his leg.

"Mm, yes...you are...a pleasure as always, my dear." he said with his usual smug grin, stopping her hand at his thigh and stifling a low moan in his throat as he spoke. "And besides, you should give your best to my young friend here," said Marc Antoni, putting his hand on my shoulder. "There's always next week." he whispered with a wink.

"How much?" I replied nonchalantly. She gave a knowing chuckle and stroked my cheek and said,

"For you? Well, it's not every night I find someone so... _pretty_ —hey!—you're not... _you know_..." I rolled my eyes in annoyance, dodging her insinuation, and waiting for more praise. I could hear Marc Antoní laughing beside me, which made my blood burn even more. She wrapped a finger around a tendril of my hair and began to loosen my shirt.

"No!" I hissed, pushing her away. "I'm no _maricon_ _!_ If you don't want me, I'm sure my friend here would be _man_ enough for you." at that point, Marc Antoni turned to me with a grin and she laughed.

"Go for it." he whispered into my ear.

I needed no prompting from him, however. My excitement was nearly uncontrollable now and she would have to be at my mercy.

I grabbed her by the wrist and began to drag her towards a deserted corner. I wanted some some privacy but just enough so I could still see the fight.

I spun her around and began to bend her over when she stopped me.

"Slow down, big boy. First thing's first." she said as she turned back to me. I sighed and rolled my eyes.

" _How much?_ " I repeated in annoyance.

"Hmm...your hair." she replied.

"What?" I exclaimed.

"I want to touch it!" she cried. " _Mon Dieu!_ Do you know how many men have hair like yours? How many _straight_ men?" I rolled my eyes again as she plunged her perfectly manicured hands into my hair. Her touch turned me on more than I cared to admit, but I tried to hide it.

"Ooh la la! So thick and beautiful! God, I'm jealous!" she exclaimed and suddenly, I pressed my mouth hard against hers. I could feel her tongue touching mine and I pushed her away.

"Enough!" I hissed and began to lift her dress and then I stopped.

"What now?"

"I want to see the fight."  
"Oh but baby, don't you want to-"

"Yes," I said thru gritted teeth, " _while_ I watch the fight."

"Oh you're a sadistic one, aren't you?" she teased.

"You have no idea." I muttered.

When I had had enough of her toying, I crushed her between a metal pipe, which she hung onto with one hand for balance, and the brick wall. I grabbed one arm and pinned it behind her back, and she teetered, and nearly fell over on her heels. I wrapped her ponytail around my hand and jerked her head back. She let out a scream but I ignored her as the pleasant sound filled my ears. My heart pounded in my ears as I watched the fight from the corner. When I was satisfied, I let her go and she lurched forward, her head snapping forward and banging it on the pipe.

"Bastard!" she spat as she rubbed her forehead.

"Slut!" I hissed as she wobbled away.

I tucked myself back in and rejoined Marc Antoni who had a grin almost more smug than mine. It was more than that, he was proud of me, and I could tell. I couldn't remember the last time my father had been proud of me, without following some kind of insidious insult.

"Have a good time?" he said jovially. "Babette!" he suddenly interjected as he turned to see the girl stomping off towards the exit. The woman only turned back to him with a scowl and swore at me in French.

"Don't mind him, dear! He is young and hungry. Nonetheless, I'll see you again soon!" he cooed at her. She dismissed us with her hand as she continued out the door.

"Yes, but I'm going home now, _señor_ Gauldera."

"And miss the rest of the fight? Oh come now!" he balked.

"It's nearly 5 in the morning."  
"You must stay! It's getting to the best part!" he exclaimed.

I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck. It was tempting to stay but I still had reservations about the man.  
"My mother will be awake soon. She doesn't know I've gone." Immediately I regretted opening my mouth.

"Oh, well, your poor mother! I can give you a ride home, then..." and started to the door. I knew at any mention of my mother he might jump at the chance to see her.

" _No_ , I'm going to walk." I said resolutely. After my recent carnal encounter, my blood had cooled some, but I had hoped the cool night air would cool it some more. I did not want Mother to see me this way and I longed now to be back in my own bed, near her purity. Perhaps I could absolve myself of my sins by the time I awoke again.

"Vega, I really think you should stay." he said again, this time his voice sounded more serious. I turned back to him. He smiled at me and I was intrigued, though it was not his usual haughty grin. Somehow, it seemed more—what's the word— _sincere_.

"Come with me. There's someone you should meet." he said again and gestured towards the ring. I followed him as he approached a tall, bald muscular man in boxer shorts and an eye-patch; the same man I had seen as I came in that night. He was bent over, tying white cloth around his feet.

"Sagat," he said to the man and he turned to us. I found myself instinctively taking a step back as he straightened to his full height. He looked like a mountain full of muscles, standing a full foot taller than I, and I was already 6 feet tall! Sagat had a scowl on his face but when he saw Marc Antoní, his face seemed to brighten.

" _Señor_." he greeted _señor_ Gauldera somberly.

"Quite a fight tonight! Absolutely amazing the way you bashed the man's head in!"

A big grin spread across the tall fighter's face and his one eye flashed. I recognized his expression as one I often had—pride.

"It was very enjoyable, yes!" his voice was deep and booming, spoken with heavily accented English.

"Sagat, I'd like you to meet Vega de Cerna. He is training to be a great fighter like yourself." Sagat looked at me with a nod and grunted his approval.

"Perhaps one day I will have a chance to break you." he said to me with his big, menacing grin and I stood my ground, fighting not to show my emotions. I wanted to say something, _anything_ but before I could, _señor_ Gauldera replied,

"We shall see, my friend. With me as his trainer, you might find that _he_ will break _you_!" replied Marc Antoní with a chuckle.

"Taking on another pupil, are you, Marc Antoní?"

"Indeed I am, Sagat. You know, I wonder if I could talk to you a moment?" he said to the taller man and they turned away from me, leaving me to stand alone near the cage, watching a fight.

I was curious as to what they might be discussing as I stood there, still entranced by the scene before me. I looked back at them to see Marc Antoní nod at me and then turn back to Sagat. No doubt it was about me.

After what seemed like an eternity, he returned again.

"Vega, you would like to learn to fight, yes?" he asked with his beaming smile.

"Yes! Of course! _Please!_ "

He chuckled at my enthusiasm.

"Well, then. You should come and stay with me at my vacation home and you can learn there. It's a small v _illa_ just outside of Lyons. Do you know when you plan to go back to Barcelona?"

"No! No...not yet. Mother and I planned a long stay."

"It's settled then. We will talk with your mother, and you can continue your vacation here in France. _Oui?_ " I nodded in agreement.

"Okay—but she can't know you're teaching me to fight. She _loathes_ it."

"Indeed. Your mother never did appreciate a good fight."

"How _do_ you know my mother, _señor_?" I asked, genuinely trying understand this mysterious connection with her. My father I could have cared less about but her, well, that was another story.

 _Señor_ Gauldera looked away from me, staring into space and I could see a sort of wistful smile on his face, like he was remembering a distant fond memory of something.

"Your mother and I were good friends, much like your father and I. It's true she could never resist my good looks and charm, but I could not come between her and your father." he replied and he smiled, but his voice was much softer this time. I think he was only trying to tease me with the last part, as with the first time I met him, he was constantly talking of himself or the beauty of my mother. It was enough to make me sick!

"Does everyone know how conceited you are, or is it me?" I asked with a smirk.

"Now why do you ask that?" he said, though he was not angry, if anything, he seemed to be greatly amused. Not that I expected much more than that from him. It seemed almost impossible that I should anger this man in the short time I knew him.

"Because! That is to say, I don't even know you and yet, you charm every woman we've come across!"

"Then perhaps I am like _Don Juan_ , eh? And you know what, Vega, I see you right now. Your way with the ladies is positively _brutal_! Look at Babette!"

"They enjoy it. I have made girls scream more often in the throes of violence, than in ecstasy. It's something I've learned these passed few years—a woman won't tell you what she really wants—you have to _show_ her; she is weak and she must be taught."

"I could not have said it better myself. You are wiser than your years, Vega! Undoubtedly Babette learned a lot today." he grinned. In spite of myself and this obnoxious man, I could feel my pride welling inside of me again.

"I taught her well." I replied beaming, "If she did not want it to be rough, she should not have come to a place with such rough men!" I snickered.

Marc Antoní sighed and said,

"Poor girl. I think she's got a crush on me, really. She only comes because she knows I am here and that I will not treat her so roughly."

"A crush? She's a whore!" I exclaimed.

"Believe it or not, Vega, whores do have feelings."

"The only feeling they have is between their legs!" I hissed angrily.

"You seem so young to be so cynical of women. Tell me, what harm have they ever caused you?"

"Do you know Francesca Fracassa?"

"Ah...Francesca Fracassa...yes, of course. I have indulged in her company many times. She costs a lot but she is worth every piece!" I rolled my eyes. Yes, that was the name of my father's high-priced Italian whore. The woman responsible for my mother's misery.

" _She_ is my father's mistress." I replied.

"Yes, now that you mention it, I remember seeing her with him a few weeks ago at the Ambassador's Ball."

"So what happened after the Ball?" he asked, and I'm sure he meant it innocently, still I looked at him, trying to hide my surprise.

"What-what do you mean?" I asked, trying to carefully avoid suspicion.

"Well, as I remember, there was a ruckus and they tried to throw your father out for his behavior. He seemed fairly angry...I certainly hope he did not hurt you." I swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Oh, he and I have an understanding. He won't be hurting us anymore." _señor_ Gauldera's eyes sparkled and he smiled warmly.

"Good! I'm glad you were finally able to deal with him. He is not an easy man to deal with, as you know. Miguel is a bull-headed, obstinate man. Oh but tell me, do you think your mother has learned a lot? After all, if she has learned from your father all that you have, she must truly be something spectacular by now! Perhaps you have taught her as well."

"What?" I exclaimed and stepped forward into his face, my chest swelling. I was only moments away from unleashing my temper at his insinuations.

"I know your father and I know what he's done to her. No doubt he taught you and your mother well!"

"Are you trying to anger me, _señor_?" I hissed, and I could feel the veins in my neck rising.

"I only speak of what I know, Vega. I also know that the punishing cruelty you unleash on women is no match for the love and devotion you shower upon your mother."

"Stay out of it! You know nothing of me or my mother!"

"It seems as if the mere mention of her angers you. I think I've hit a nerve, haven't I?"

"A nerve? She's my mother and you have no idea what hell she's suffered! My father wasn't teaching her anything. He beat her, horrifically. She couldn't walk for 2 months after that Ball!" I said and I could feel my chest heaving, my eyes watered but I dared not to let any tears show.

"When was this, Vega? I thought it was a few weeks ago..." he said and I realized in my anger that I let yet another detail slip.

"Never mind!" I hissed.

"You wish he couldn't hurt her anymore, don't you? You want to be able to stop him, save your precious mother from him."

"Yes..." I muttered.

"You're angry because you couldn't stop it. You felt helpless, powerless. I'm offering you this power. You're already a skilled fighter; there's very little difference between a bull and a man. You said that bulls were dumb, filthy creatures who deserve to die. Sounds almost exactly like your father, doesn't it?" he smirked but as I looked at him, I felt good again. He was right and I hungered for more than just bulls, I wanted to fight more uncivilized creatures. I nodded at him as he said,

"Give me your address and I will pay you a visit soon,"

Reluctantly, I did as he asked, with the hopes I might find a way out of that smothering hotel room.

"Look, _señor_ , I have to go now."

"It's alright, Vega. I understand! Go back to your mother and I'll see you soon." he smiled and I rolled my eyes but at least we had an understanding.

"Wait! Do you know where you're going?"

"Yes, I'll be fine," I said sharply as I left the building and walked back into the night. I could see the pale yellow streaking across the horizon. The sun would be up soon.

I found my way back to the hotel and crept back to my room as casually as I could. I opened it carefully and it was dark but the sun was beginning to shine through the windows. I jumped as I saw Mother sitting on her bed in her dressing gown, staring at me quietly.

"Where have you been?" she said softly, I could sense the worry but she did not seem angry.

"I went out early to find some breakfast." I lied. She nodded and blinked sleepily.

"Is that why you smell of smoke and musk?" she asked as she watched me take off my clothes and climb into my bed.

"Yes," I replied quickly, laying on my side with my back to her. She was quiet and I could hear her climbing into her own bed.

"I hate it when you lie to me, Vega." she said in a much louder voice. I rolled over to see she too was laying on her side, and staring at me.

Dawn broke and so did another restless day in the hotel room. Mother and I dressed in silence and I could feel her staring at me as she buttoned up a black blouse with white polka-dots and an a-line khaki skirt. She slipped into a pair of matching tan high heels and I tried not to catch the icy glare of her blue eyes as they bored through me.

Uneasily, I finished buttoning the cuffs of my white button-down shirt and tugged at the waistline of my khaki slacks. She crossed in front of me as she put on her pearl stud earrings as she walked to the Vanity. I turned away and began to quickly braid my hair.

"Vega, are you going to tell me where you were?" she said, staring at me from the mirror as she dabbed her powder rather forcefully on her face. If she had applied it any heavier, she was going to turn white!

"I went for a walk, that's all." I replied, clearing my throat and putting a rubber band on my braid.

" _Is_ it?" she asked and I could hear her voice rise sharply at the end.

I bit my bottom lip and tried to stifle an urge to yell at her.

" _Yes_ , Mother."

"Don't get smart, Vega!" she exclaimed angrily, as a small cloud of dust rose as she threw her puff down into her powder. I turned sharply as she approached me.

"You were told to stay here! I don't ask much of you, Vega. You know I don't. I am your mother but I also hope that I am your friend and I thought...thought you would respect me enough to listen." her eyes teared up and I sighed heavily.

"I _do_ respect you, Mama. I do! You _know_ I do." She laid her head on my chest and I could smell her freshly applied powder, and it tickled my nose; I sniffed and wriggled it, trying not to sneeze.

" _Déu meu_ ,Vega!" she crossed herself. "My darling Narcís, it's just that I worry about you. I worry what will happen to you..."

"Mother, you're not worried about me. You're worried about _you_." I said as she looked up at me, her eyes gleaming in confusion.

"What-what do you mean?"

"You _know_ what I mean. You need me and if you lost me, you wouldn't know how to live."

"My precious, precious boy! You are right." she cried as she kissed my cheek and as she reached up to kiss it, paused as she looked at me, and then slowly kissed the other. We were quiet a moment and she quickly wiped the kisses from my cheeks with her thumb in her very motherly way. I chuckled at her softly. _Of course I'm right. I'm always right because I am your precious boy! And I know I could never live without you either..._ I thought bitterly.

"It's okay, Mama." she touched my lips softly with her fingers.

"I know," she said, in a hushed voice, nearly a whisper. I knew she was choking back tears again.

"It was self-defense."

"Self-defense! Self-defense...what proof is there? By the time they find us-"  
"If they find us, Mother!"

She glared and me and continued,

"our wounds will have healed."

"There was nothing we could do! Nothing!" She stood and began to pace, her arms folded across her chest.

I watched her pace a moment more and then touched her arm as she went by me again.

"Mother, please!" I cried and she stopped. With a heavy sigh, she sat next to me.

"Please, just promise me you won't leave me."

"I promise."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	9. The Hotel: Finale

The monotony of another day in what was otherwise a fine luxury hotel began to kill me. I was becoming bored stiff!

Mother seemed content to lay about, though and the idea of it drove me crazy! I had come to realize that she was far more used to her gilded cage than I was, however.

It was something she did often at home because she had few reasons to leave bed, aside from the days that her bad back and hips kept her bedridden. The longer she stayed in bed, the less she might happen upon my father. She was not bored, however. She had an endless library of torrid romance books in her room, as well as her television with its ridiculous _telenovelas_.

I could barely stomach such a thing, but she was a woman after all. I much preferred to read history books on obscure, morbid topics and the more lurid, the better. I was well-versed on the history of Vlad the Impaler, Elizabeth Bathory, the Marquis de Sade, and of course my personal hero— _Tomás de Torquemada_ —hero of the great Spanish Inquisition, although I fancied myself much more of a _libertine_ like de Sade.

Mother was very disgusted in my choices of literature but, I did not care.

Now I had little to do but stare at the television or the ceiling, hardly moving from the dent I had made lying in bed all day; and soon I found myself staring at a familiar figure, however.

I watched my mother as I lie on the bed one day, tracing the curves of her shapely figure with my eyes, and I noticed the soft curve of her waist, and then the gentle sway of her hips as she moved about the room, and before I knew it, my heart began to pound, my stomach churned and my pants became unbearably tight. I sucked in air between my teeth sharply, biting my lip and squeezing my eyes shut, hoping for the feeling to subside. I opened them again to my horror to see a bulging erection. It pulsed and throbbed in pain and I tried to stay quiet, trying not to draw attention to myself.

My mother sat at a vanity, doing her hair and makeup and I lay on my side on the bed, fortunately with my back to her. Being male, this was certainly not the first time I had to deal with it and it was a usual morning occurrence but this time, it was different. I knew strength and the pain like this only happened when I was turned on by someone. Of course due to the circumstances, I realized there was only one person it could be that gave me such a reaction. My mind whirled and my ears burned and the first thing I thought to do was to reach down and relieve my ache, but of course I knew I could not let her see, so doing it was out of the question. Carefully I pulled the blankets over me, hoping to cover such an inconspicuous bulge.

"Are you sleepy, my darling?" asked mother, staring at me from the Vanity mirror as she powdered her face. I dared not to move as I replied,

"Yes," she only smiled at me.

I felt the nausea well up in my stomach and I chastised myself mentally, trying to understand how this could have happened.

 _It's simple,_ I thought to myself. _She's female, you're male. Man, woman, man, woman, man,m-my, my woman. Mine. Mine, mine!_ My thoughts whirled like this until I thought I had it rationalized course if she were really _mine_ , I would have done as I did to all women I claimed and thrown her on the bed or pinned her against the wall and taken her. No remorse, no guilt, no mercy—but she was so pure and innocent. How could I do such a thing?

I loved her more than anything in my life, more than anyone. She was my best friend, my confidant, and most of the time, though we tried to seem like other mother and sons, we were more like best friends. I always had an attraction to her in some form, all of my life. I knew as I grew up that a lot of it was physical, and just as much emotional, but it never seemed strange to me, and since she never said anything, it must not have been strange to her either. She always told me that God condoned love, and that love could never be a sin, no matter what it was. Except now, to show such an attraction to her in such a way, _in front_ of her, it was _unthinkable_. If she found out, it could destroy her. Then again, if she had always known, what harm was it in a base male response? My mind was reeling from the possibilities and I knew this was not a time for philosophy.

Slowly, I sat up on the bed and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the blanket still covering my lap. Carefully, I removed it and moved as quietly as I could passed my mother, who was putting on her makeup, and into the bathroom. I shut the door and locked it, throwing up the toilet seat and undoing my pants, and pushing down my underwear. I knew I could not be quiet and so I bit down onto my left hand, balled into a fist. Each stroke felt ever so good and so painful, the tears came to my eyes. The blood rushed in my ears and I felt my heart pound as my breath quickened more and more. I watched my precious seed spilling into the water, my body shuddering after a few moments into what would have been ecstasy was it not for the horrific pain as my teeth cut into my hand. I began to taste the blood as it seeped into my mouth; I tasted the warm, thick tang of iron as it slid down my throat. I could feel an almost strange sense of comfort growing inside me, so very strange, and yet it was so familiar.

I looked at the blood on my hand and I saw that once more I was becoming aroused (though not as strongly as before); my body craved this sensation again. I licked the blood from the bite marks on my hand, relishing one last taste.

Spent, I sighed and collapsed against the wall standing there with my pants still down, straddling the toilet. I fought to control myself as my jaw clenched, my chest tightened and my hands balled into fists. It was all I could do not to put them through the wall.

If I were religious, I would beg God to rid me of this affliction, this need, this desire that I could not have, but I was not. God suffered me as I suffered Him and that's how it was. I did His Will and He suffered my sins.

"Are you alright, Vega?" called Mother from beyond the door after a while.

"Yes!" I answered back, trying to suppress my panting and speak in the clearest voice I could.

 _Damn!_ I cursed.

Clearing my throat, I pulled up my pants and underwear, flushed the toilet and washed my hands.  
I walked as casually as I could passed my mother as she sat at the vanity and then sat on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped together in thought. She rose from her chair and began to walk towards me. There was a small hitch in her step as she stopped a few feet away from me.

"Are you sure you're okay, darling?" she asked, her hand reflexively extended in mid air to touch me. I swallowed down any residual emotion I had and tried to give her a reassuring smile.

"I'm fine!" I forced out, perhaps a little louder than I should. No sooner had I said it when I felt the bed sink as she climbed onto it and moved behind me, throwing her arms around my neck. I could feel her soft breath against my neck and the warmth of her body now pressing up against me. She rubbed my chest and I closed my eyes. I could feel it tightening again. Her mouth was close to my ear, her lips brushed my earlobe and I tried to ignore a shiver in my body. Suddenly, I shot up quickly as if she had bitten me, and I stepped away.

"Vega! What on earth?" she exclaimed.

I rubbed the back of my head and stared away from her.

"I'm sorry. I-" I stammered, unable to explain my reaction. Immediately, she bounded off the bed and took my hand. I turned her away, as if we were doing some kind of dance.

"Vega!" she cried again. "What?!-Stop!"

I gave a heavy sigh and turned away from her to look out the window. I felt her wrap her arms around my chest, holding me tight as I strained already from the growing tightness in my loins. I did not remove her arms this time.

"Tell me, what's wrong? You know we have no secrets. You've been pacing like a caged tiger for days!" she said. Her voice was low and serious, though still seemed as gentle as it always was.

I could think of nothing but the truth to tell her, because at that moment, nothing else would come out.

"N-nothing. I love you." I replied. I heard her soft chuckle as she laid her head against my back.

"I love you, too. I know you're restless, Vega. I know. We're cooped up here for weeks, nothing to do. It must be so hard to be a boy your age, unable to go out and have fun..." and she moved before me, staring up at me with her warm blue eyes. I swallowed hard, trying not to give myself away.

"Come, then. Come, come, my darling." she said, taking my hand and leading me to the center of the room. There was a rather grand stereo on the shelf next to the vanity and she turned the dial until she found some classical music.

"I don't really feel like it-" I muttered, dragging my feet.

"Waltz with me, my _Narcís_." I looked at her nervously, afraid that as she looked at me, she might know my secret.  
"Mother, I—"

"You are such a wonderful dancer," Mother replied and I could hear the joy in her voice. "I taught you well, didn't I?" and she smiled up at me, her eyes blazing.

"Yes, Mother," I replied obediently and she laid her head against my chest with a sigh. I smelled the faint smell of her floral perfume and I inhaled deeply. Such magical sweetness it held for me, now becoming so stale. I tried to remember when I was a child how she would sometimes spritz my pillows so I could sleep at night. I tried to think of anything that let me remember this smell the way it was before...

Our slow waltz became a fast two-step as we picked up our pace, and she laughed giddily. Clearly, she was enjoying this more than I. On and on we danced, till the room was a blur.

"Oh, _really_ Vega! You are _so_ tense!" she exclaimed as she playfully smacked me on the arm. I felt so rigid, that I felt like I couldn't move. She smiled at me, trying desperately to get me to smile, but I could barely stand her touch; the air between us suddenly became thick and musty, and I couldn't breathe. My heart pounded in my chest, the blood rushed in my head, and my hands tingled. The ground felt like it nearly came out from underneath me, spinning around and around. Oh how I wished this was like the other happier times; when it felt like it was only her and I in the room, but now it was my head spinning.

"I can't do this! I can't-I can't-" I exclaimed, pushing her away. "I need out! I need air!"

Mother recovered from her giddiness and sauntered towards me again, laying her hands on my chest and peering up at me innocently. Quickly, I removed her hands and her smile faded.

"Darling, are you okay? You look so flushed! Here now, sit down, my Narcís. Now, you know better! You know you can't just go out. If they find us..." she said, leading me to the sofa. I looked down.

"' _If_ they find us'..." I snickered."We're in the middle of Monaco, Mother. Everyone in Europe recognizes me and no one— _no one_ knows Father is dead!" Of course in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn't entirely true; after all, there was his whore of a mistress, and any of the Help who saw the body. No doubt the woman had called the police; it's what any logical person would do but...perhaps she didn't. She was, after all, a courtesan and prostitution was not exactly legal... There was nothing I could do, being so far away so I did my best to push the thought away.

"I'm leaving." I declared as I turned to go out the door, but Mother caught my hand.

"You're not! You're staying here!" she cried and I smiled to myself. She was back in her Motherly mode, hoping maybe I'd listen to her.

"I can't stay here another minute! I can't stay here in this room with _you_!" I exclaimed, with my back to her still. I felt her gently let go of my hand and I knew she was upset. I rubbed under my nose and turned back to her, as I saw her familiar sad face. She was pouting! There were no lengths she would stray from to keep me feeling guilty.

"Mother, please. You have to understand! I know you want out too, so let's go!" I said, putting my hands on her arms. Honestly, I wanted to be alone at that moment but if it got her to stop pouting, I didn't care what I said.

"No, I won't go out there again. Please, stay. Just stay. Stay with me." she pleaded taking my hands and squeezing them. Her blue eyes shined precariously. I sighed and rubbed my head, admitting defeat—for now.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door and I had never been so relieved in my life! Mother went to the door.

" _Señor Gauldera!_ " she cried and I went to her side cautiously.

"Lovely to see you again, _Señora._ " he replied warmly. "Vega, my friend!" he exclaimed, beaming at me.

"Please, come in." said my mother.

"Thank you," he replied, taking a seat on our sofa. "I hope I haven't interrupted anything..."

Mother took a seat on an adjacent chair and smoothed out her dress self-consciously. She looked at him nervously and cleared her throat.

"No. No, not at all." I hovered behind her chair, resting my hands on the back of it.

"What brings you here, _Señor_ Gauldera?" she asked and I knew she was being polite and quite suspicious.

"Oh, I heard you were in the area." he said, and Mother cast a steely gaze in my direction.

"Don't be upset, _Señora_ de Cerna. After all, he is quite famous." replied Senor Gauldera quickly, noticing her tense look on her face. "Word does travel fast among high society." He casually crossed his legs. He was handsomely dressed in a black sports jacket, white silk shirt with a high turned up collar, black slacks and fine black Italian leather loafers; his blue eyes sparkled with his charming smile as he held his hands folded in his lap. For a man close to the same age as my mother, he was quite handsome. Not as handsome as I of course! I could see why women wanted him, which was obvious to me. I just couldn't see why he wanted my mother—not that she was not a beautiful woman; she was the most beautiful woman in all the world—but she was _my_ mother, after all.

He ran his hand through his long chin-length brunette hair and then broke the growing tense silence.

"I've come to invite you both to stay with me at my villa in Lyons!"

Mother nervously tugged at her skirt and smoothed it again.

" _Señor_ , I appreciate the invitation, but I don't think we can go." she said and I laid a hand on her shoulder and whispered in her ear.

"Mama! We have to go! We can't stay here anymore and you know it. Besides, if they _are_ looking for us, they won't think to look for us at someone else's house!"

"Vega, we-we hardly know this man..."

"He seems to know _you!_ " I replied bitterly.

"Vega!" she hissed at me and I rolled my eyes.

"Uh, _Señor_ Gauldera, we would love to go!" I interjected to him.

"Good! Now _Señora_ , your son seems eager to go, are you sure you won't reconsider? I'm having a wonderful ball as well and I'd love you to come! My affairs are not to be missed!"

 _Oh God...another one?_ I thought.

She gasped and then swallowed, smiling uneasily. I watched her shift her legs and fidget with the hem of her skirt again. I could have sworn she was behaving, well—like a teenage girl! I was no expert in such behavior but, being around fawning, swooning girls all the time, I learned to observe. It made me more sickened by the moment to see her act that way.

"Well, I...suppose..." she said with a faint chuckle.

"Then, it's settled! I will call up my chauffeur and he will bring your luggage to the car. If you'll excuse me." he said as he stood and opened the door. With a quick wink to me, he disappeared.

Mother stood and held her hands over her face, I could see her cheeks flushed red.

"Mother, you're blushing! Are you okay?"

"No! No...I mean, yes! It's just that...Oh, I can't believe we're doing this!" she exclaimed with a giddy giggle.

I laughed and wrapped my arms around her shoulders.

"You'll see. We'll be fine, I promise."

Mother's eyes sparkled as she laughed.

"I know-Vega, he thinks we have luggage!"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	10. A Rendevous with Fate

Soon enough, we arrived in Lyons, France at Señor Gauldera's villa. It was a large white mansion, surrounded by trees and a sprawling lawn. It was enclosed by a black iron fence, with a long gravel drive way lined with topiary. There was a marble fountain in the middle of the lawn.

Inside was no less impressive. There was a grand staircase, much like one in my own mansion. The walls were white with white marble and the staircase was draped in red carpeting. I saw underneath the staircase were large French doors. One was propped open and I peeked inside. It was a beautiful grand ballroom with a large crystal chandelier in the middle of the ceiling. Looking up, I could see also what appeared to be hooks but I was not sure what they were for.

"You two certainly travel light!" exclaimed the handsome older man. "Come with me. I will take you upstairs to your rooms." we did as we were bid and followed him up the grand staircase. There was a long white hallway lined with doors.

"I have many rooms available. You may pick whichever one you wish. I will leave you to get settled." We watched him depart down the stairs and with a glance to one another, we shrugged and began to peek into each of the rooms. There were rows of rooms facing each other and in each room, there seemed to be a different motif.

I chose a room decorated in blood red and gold. It had terracotta colored walls and the large long windows had velvet burgundy brocade curtains, a king-sized four poster canopy bed, with matching burgundy velvet canopy, and a gold brocade bedspread with burgundy satin sheets. There were potted plants in the corners of the room and it reminded me of a sort of an ancient Roman palace.

The copper marbled floor reflected in the sun, giving the whole room a warm glow, an almost ethereal quality—indeed, very befitting to my tastes.

I was hardly surprised when my mother chose the room next door to mine. I walked into her room to see her sitting on the bed.

It was almost like her room at home; it was a room filled with antiques and a light colored brocade.

The room reminded me of the ostentatious gilding of the 18th century furniture, everything awash with a white veneer and gleaming gold trim. She had a grand four-poster bed just as I did, but it was of course painted white with gold gilding; flowing white gauze hung down from the canopy; her bedding was also a matching white, but light pink embroidered flowers decorated the pillows. A beautiful light pink brocade scarf hung decoratively over the vanity. On the walls, there were classical paintings with scenes from the Greek and Roman mythology and over her bed there was a wooden polished crucifix. As I looked about the room, I could not help but get the feeling that someone had actually lived here before.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

"Yes, it's beautiful." I said as I scanned the room. She smiled warmly and rose, peering into my room next. "Now, what did you choose?"

I watched her as she looked about the room. She ran her hands down the velvet curtains and turned to look at my grand poster bed, and then took a seat on it.

"Isn't it perfect?"

"Yes, it's what I expected for you."

"You think so?" I asked with a grin, taking a seat beside her, and I watched her as she glanced around the room again.

"It's very regal! Nothing is too good for my sweet prince!"

"Mother, really!" I scoffed, and I laughed as I went over to the vanity. I admired my flawless, unblemished face as I un-braided and then re-braided my long, dark golden hair.

"Oh my Narcís!" she exclaimed with an amused smile as she watched me at the vanity. "Whatever shall we do with you? Just look at you!"

"Yes, look at me. I am perfect!" I said as I turned towards her and fastened a hairband on the end of my braid.

"Shall we? I'm sure our host will be expecting us downstairs soon." she said with a gesture.

I turned back to her.

"I'm sure he will, Mother."

"Oh now Vega, you mustn't be so sharp. He invited us here and you wanted to go too, remember?" I twitched my mouth contemptuously.

"You're right, Mama, but as nice as he seems, I'm not sure we can trust him."

Mother frowned and folded her arms.

"Well, it's as you said before, we don't have any choice right now, do we? He was nice enough to get us in without our passports!"

It was true; I was not sure how he got us passed the border guards, but he did. I was wondering why it took so long to cross into France...

My eyes widened in shock as that realization hit me. Mother turned me towards the door and gently pushed me out.

The next evening was the grand ball. Truth be told, I had had my fill of Balls and dancing as of late but this, I was told, was to be quite an exception. Señor Marc Antoní Gauldera, my gracious host, promised me it would be unlike anything I had ever seen, or had ever been to before.

Mother in her brand new ballgown, and I in my brand new spot free tux entered the ballroom arm in arm. I felt a sense of déjà vu as I looked about the room, though I knew I had not been here before.

The large crystal chandelier glittered from the ceiling and I glanced back up at the hooks poking precariously next to it. I couldn't help but to wonder what they were for.

Mother and I were announced by the usher, just as we were at any ball, even though were already there as guests. After we took our place in the room, Marc Antoní greeted us warmly, kissing my mother on her cheeks and then shaking my hand with a kiss on the cheek ceremoniously.

"There you are! So good to see you again. Señora de Cerna, you are a vision as always." said Señor Gauldera with a twinkle in his eyes.

By now, you are expecting a lavish and possibly somewhat romantic description of what my mother wore, no doubt. She was dressed beautifully as always but this night, my eyes were filled with such beauty, even my mother could not compare!

Women of all ages and nationalities filled the room and it was awash with the colors of their dresses, a light perfume filled the air. It was the usual sea of satin and taffeta and all the same formal classical music I was used to, and yet, something felt different. My eyes kept being drawn upward to large chandelier with hooks near it. So mesmerized was I that I nearly jumped at the soft tap on my shoulder from my mother.

"Vega, what are you looking at?" she asked, looking up also.

"Nothing." I replied, still absorbed in the ceiling.

"It is beautiful in here, isn't it? Almost like home..."

"I suppose..." I said, not fully paying attention.  
"Would you like to dance with me, Vega?" she asked and I looked down at her, my concentration finally broken.

"Not really, Mother. Sorry." I replied and I studied her eyes a moment, expecting to see the same disappointed look I always got from her, but none came.

"Señora, would you do me the honor?" interjected Señor Gauldera just that moment, appearing at her side and offering his hand. She looked flustered a moment and then quickly accepted. The man grinned at me as they walked to the center of the room and began a waltz. Part of me was grateful I didn't have to dance with her, but the other part was angry that it was he who was the one who danced with her. With a leer, I watched them carefully as I moved against the wall, observing their movements and the expressions on their faces as they danced. Mother seemed to glow and she smiled and laughed, the same as she always seemed to with me.

Marc Antoní smiled and occasionally whispered into her ear, then my mother would giggle. It seemed to go on for the duration of the music. I could not even imagine the pick up lines he was using on her. My stomach churned at the thought and so I turned away and began to scan the room. I was bored and restless, anxiously awaiting the promised surprise that Señor Marc Antoní had in store for us.

I wandered in the back of the room to the refreshment tables, where lavish assortments of food and drink were piled high. I was not particularly hungry or thirsty, but I browsed as if I was. I picked up a chocolate bon-bon and took a glass of punch, turning back to my playing field.

Any moment now, an adoring young female fan or two would approach me, shyly try and engage the famous matador and I, sensing such vulnerability, would soon try and ease her nerves. She would play right into my charms and then, I would have my way with her in every sense of the word! Women never refused me, and I never refused them.

I licked my lips, savoring a drop of punch as I thought of ravishing a girl in some dark deserted area of the room. How sweet it would be devouring their flesh, tearing the clothes from their body, their squeals of ecstasy loud in my ears; but even as I stood there, imagining my lustful fantasies, I could see Mother, her body pressed close against Señor Gauldera as they danced, I could see her smiling and throwing back her head as she laughed. The light caught her diamond jewelry as they moved about slowly, reflecting a blissful gleam in her eye. I could see him whispering in her her ear, and he pressed his lips against her neck every so often. I clenched my glass so tight I thought it might break! I looked away before my heart thumped out of my chest.

And so, I did as I was expected and I began to hunt for a suitable girl to dance with. I walked out to the middle of the dance floor and a girl fluttered her way over to me, that same empty gleam in her eye, the one all the fan girls had when they saw me. I loved the way they adored me but I knew as well as they did what they really wanted. For now, though, a dance would do.

"Monsieur Vega?" she said to me, almost breathless in her excitement. "You're the famous matador, oui?"

I grinned at her, scanning her body as she spoke. A quaint brunette with a slender waist and average size. I could make use of her, if I wished.

"Yes, I am he." I said smoothly, "Would you care to dance, Señorita?" and I offered my hand.

"It would be an honor!" she exclaimed as we moved out onto the dancefloor.

I held the girl close in my arms as we danced and she smiled up at me, her eyes gleaming so. My stomach began to churn at the thought, and I looked around the room again. I saw my mother still dancing with Señor Gauldera nearby.

Once more, he stood with his back to me, which meant that my mother could see me over his shoulder. Her mouth smiled but her eyes caught me in a cold glare. I swallowed, locking eyes with her and turned the girl slowly, deliberately so that I matched my mother's gaze. We seemed determined to not lose sight of each other as I turned, she turned, and still our eyes met. I could see Señor Gauldera kiss her cheek and I narrowed my eyes. Mother's smile seemed triumphant as her long manicured nails clutched tightly against his shoulder, and he crushed her against him, her cheek pressed against his. I squeezed the girl's hand tight and this finally caused her to look up at me with a small cry of pain, which I would have truly noticed if I were looking down at her at that moment.

"Ouch! That hurts!" she cried out.

"I'm sorry," I replied quietly, not shifting my gaze from my mother. I could hear her sigh.

Violently, I turned her again, swinging her body around like a fragile doll, trying to near this elusive couple.

The blood rushed in my body, my heart pounded in my chest as I watched Señor Gauldera's hand leave my mother's and land on her back. Her cold glare turned into a triumphant sparkle as she looked at me. Still, I knew behind that sparkle was the ever-present icy glare that burned into my soul, daring me not to look away; I did not. I could see him whispering into her ear again, things I knew I could never bear to hear, things she did not need to hear and I watched his hand on her back slide slowly lower. She bit her bottom lip as she looked at me, stifling an embarrassed smile as she quickly replaced his hand onto her back once more.

I was in utter torment now, holding this meaningless girl in my arms but unable to look away from the woman who gave birth to me—somehow, my mother seemed so different; she was alive again, and yet in a way that I had never seen before. She smiled flirtatiously; her eyes held an impish gleam, even as she looked at me, and I was not sure if such a look was for me, or the man who held her so tight.

Indeed, this was punishment enough. I despised it when she did not approve, but I loathed it more when she would refuse to say so. Her radiant smile became more cruel than any glare she had given me so far. To see this lecherous man touching her in such a way turned my stomach; she deserved better.

I longed for such closeness and so I crushed the poor brunette against me suddenly. I smiled at her and she scowled, pulling away. She turned silently and walked away quickly, and I stood there grinning. I decided to head back to the refreshment table for a drink; all that dancing had made me thirsty of course.

No sooner had I picked up a glass of punch when Señor Gauldera walked to the center of the room and halted the music. Everyone stopped dancing and looked at him, beginning to spread out and move towards him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please! Tonight, I have planned a great surprise for you all. Truly a great spectacle to be held!" he said, raising his arms emphatically. I heard the sound of a motor and chains and I looked up to see a panel in the ceiling slide open. A great cage with metal bars suspended on chains was lowered slowly until it landed on the ground. I could see the chains hanging from the hooks in the ceiling. Never before had I seen such a thing, and while I had heard things about cage fights, until a few weeks ago, I had never bothered to go to one. I'm sure my father would have jumped at the chance to take me but, I could only imagine what a dreary experience that would have been.

"Tonight, you will witness the greatest cage fight ever seen! I have for you two very talented and strong fighters from far off corners of the globe." and as he said this, two men emerged from behind him. One I recognized as the dark-skinned muscular Thai fighter Sagat, the other was a burly muscular Caucasian man with a beard, mustache, and a buzz-cut down the middle of his head. He wore red bracers, trunks, and heavy boots. He looked to be some kind of wrestler; perhaps a Russian.

I glanced over to my mother to gauge what she thought of this spectacle. I smirked to myself as I watched her stomp out of the room. I knew that there would be no consoling her later, but right now, there were too many important things happening.

"From the far-off jungle of Thailand, I present to you Muay Thai champion Victor Sagat, and from the bloody Red Iron Curtain of the Soviet Union, I present to you Zangief, Soviet National wrestling champion!"

It was certainly a spectacle to behold! Zangief stood as a hairy mass of muscles, hunched over and ready to fight; his posture made him seem short next to the sleek Thai fighter.

In truth, Sagat was only 4 inches taller but the difference was that he stood tall and thin, rigid.

Zangief spoke in English with a heavy Russian brogue.

"I fight for Mother Russia! I fight for honor and fame! You, Thai-man, what do you fight for?" he said.

Sagat smirked and replied,

"It is not important what I fight for—but my true quest shall be to gain my glory—and there is no true glory in fighting you!" Zangief growled and clenched his fists, ready to fight.

He ran at Sagat, hunched over and ready to grab. Sagat laughed lowly and shot out fierce fireballs from his fists, and the wrestler tumbled back a couple times and stopped flat on his back. The rough man shook his head and stood back up, ready to run toward him again. Sagat delivered several midair kicks to Zangief's head, knocking him back but not knocking him over this time. Sagat stood confidently, waiting for Zangief to come at him. He could calculate the sluggish man's moves. Sagat hesitated a moment too late when Zangief bear hugged him and flipped him over his back; Sagat crashed head first to the ground.

"Ohyah!" cried the wrestler as he flipped over a second time.

"Your kicks are no match for me, Thai-man! I grind your brains into the ground!" said Zangief, continuing to attack.

I watched as the blood began to pulse in my ears and my heart pounded so hard, I thought it would come out of my chest. I licked my lips as the blood sprayed from each fighter with impact. I was close enough to the cage that it fell upon me like glorious red rain. I licked it from my lips, and rubbed some on my fingers, admiring the gloriously red color.

I watched them so intently that I thought for just a moment they might notice.

Sagat hardly had the strength to recover. Pulling himself up with his arms, he growled. Slowly, he stood up and Zangief laughed at him.

"Tiger Knee!" cried Sagat, kneeing him in the chest. Zangief flew back.

As the Russian wrestler fell, Sagat pelted him with three strong blasts from his fists. He fell to the ground with a massive thud, unconscious. Sagat had won. A short fight, as it was, but Zangief seemed to be no match for the former Muay Thai Champion.

A thunderous roar of applause and cheers came from the crowd. Sagat stood proudly, laughing and I thought I caught a gleam in his eye.

"You can taste it, can't you?" said Marc Antoni Gauldera as he approached me. I was not sure if he was referring the blood that had sprayed upon my lips or something else perhaps. "This too will be your destiny, if you want it."

"I want it!" I exclaimed.

"I'm glad you still do." he said, "Let me teach you and you will be able to defeat men twice the size of them!"

Twice the size? They weren't tall enough? I was already 6 feet tall by then, nearing my full-grown height. I nodded eagerly.

"Very good. I must attend to this for now, but I will come and find you when the time is right." he said and went into the cage, officially declaring Sagat the winner.

I marveled at his words to me and wondered how soon it would be...

TO BE CONTINUED...


	11. Blood Like Red Wine

I knocked on her door after the ball that night. The air was thick with tension when I entered, finding her sitting at her vanity table. She was still in her ballgown and she was just sitting there, staring at the mirror.

"Hello, Mother," I said, moving by her side and kissing her cheek.

"Hello, darling. Did you enjoy the fight?" she asked, I could hear the disdain in her voice. I hesitated to answer, knowing full well we would end up in another argument.

"You look beautiful, Mama." I replied, ignoring her question. Mama chuckled, turning to me, crossing her legs and dangling her foot. I watched her foot dangling there, like an angry cat switching its tail.

"Oh, you're so clever." she said, rolling her eyes, and then she looked straight at me. "Who was the girl you were with?"

I wished she were asking about the fight again and I stared at my feet, avoiding her eyes. I pondered my response, trying to avoid her scathing venom.

"Just some random girl." I said and she smiled but I felt uneasy. I moved behind her and began to remove the pins from her hair, looking for a way to smooth out the situation.

I watched her hair cascade down around her shoulders in soft golden waves. Picking up a wooden-handled brush with smooth bristles, I saw it had a V engraved on it, just as my mother's did.

"I see," she replied, her voice dripping in contempt but I knew better than to continue.

I gathered her hair in my hand and began to run the brush through. She threw back her head with a sigh; her eyes closed, lips parted. With each delicate stroke, I made it shine like the flaxen gold it was, doing my best not to pull. I saw the happiness on her face.

She opened her eyes again, watching me still with her sweet smile.

"So gentle you are, Vega." she cooed.

I ran my hands through her hair, enjoying its smoothness and then I wrapped my arms around her neck, burying my nose in her hair. She laid her hand over mine.

"My beautiful boy." she cooed and I could hear such pride in her voice. "Am I not as beautiful as you?" There was yet another impish gleam in her eyes.

"Even more!" I exclaimed. I knew she was trying to trap me but I did my best to counter her.

I glanced down to see faint red marks on her neck where _Señor_ Gauldera's lips had been. I jerked the brush through her hair and she cried out.

"¡Ay!" she exclaimed, "Vega, gently!" and I murmured an apology.

She stood up, taking the brush from my hand.

He isn't fit to touch you, I thought.

" _Basta. Gracias_ , my darling. That's enough for now." Mother replied with an exasperated sigh.

I wondered when Mother started speaking Castillian again.

She then turned her back to me and gestured at the zipper.

"Would you mind?" she asked.

"No." I said. I began to unzip her dress.

" _Perdóneme._ " said a voice at the doorway and we looked to see Marc Antoni standing there.

"I hope I'm not interrupting..." he said and Mother turned to face him, trying to zip her dress back up without him seeing.

" _Bonsoir, buenas noches!_ No, not at all." she said with a coy smile. I rolled my eyes at her and he smiled back, giving me a friendly nod.

"I only wish to say goodnight to you both. The ball was a wonderful success and all the guests have finally left."

"I'm glad. _Buenas noches, Señor._ " she replied.

"Please, call me Marc Antoni now! You are guests in my home. No need for such formality." he said and she nodded. He looked back at me now, his eyes still gleaming.

"Vega, did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

"Yes, I had a great time." I replied, trying to suppress most my excitement in front of her.

"I knew you would." he replied with his same smug smile. "Goodnight!" and he closed the door behind him.

Again I finished unzipping her dress and I watched it fall away from her body into a heap of fabric. She moved to the vanity where her white satin sleeveless nightgown lay on the chair. Mother slipped into it and then looked at me.

"Vega, you look annoyed. What's wrong?" she asked, stroking my face.

"Nothing, Mother." I murmured and she smiled a knowing smile, looking into my eyes.

Mother loosened my tie and shirt and I took off my coat, throwing it over my shoulder. I looked at her, the words stuck in my throat.

"What?" she asked, smiling. "You look like you want to say something."

I wanted to tell her that she disappointed me with her behavior that night. She had no right to make me feel guilty for dancing with that girl! Her relentless flirting with Marc Antoni Gauldera was the most nauseating thing I had ever seen. Except, the idea of causing a fight exhausted me. I was already tired enough after the ball.

Again I could not bring myself to speak, and I just shook my head.

She went to the bed and began to turn down the covers.

"Come to bed, then." she replied with her warm smile beckoning me. I shuffled over to her and kissed her cheek. She put her hands on my shoulders, I knew she was expecting me to answer.

"Good night, Mother."

"Good night, my love." she replied and I turned back to her. I could see in her eyes the loneliness hiding there beneath her pleasant smile—she did not want me to go.

I sighed, turning back and leaving to my room.

* * *

I lay in my cold, empty bed staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep. It felt strange to be alone, but what else could I do? The last few years, I rarely slept by myself and rarer still was another girl in my bed. Even so, why did it matter? It felt good to be so close to the one person I loved every bit as much as I loved myself.

Like any teenage boy, my mind was always lustful and even as I lay beside my beautiful mother each night, thoughts of other girls—and the things I could do with them filled my head.

Laying in bed this night was no different. The delicious images floating in my mind, a wicked smile beginning to curl the corner of my lips. Yes, I know what you may be thinking, but I was not about to make my mother a party to my twisted trysts! A pure creature such as herself could never comprehend my dark desires.

A knock on the door disrupted my lustful thoughts, but it did not sound like the soft knock of my mother.

To my surprise, Marc Antoni poked his head in my door and I sat up.

"Vega, has your mother gone to bed?" he asked.

"I-I think so."

"Good." he said and I could see the sparkle of his eye and his smile even in the darkness.

"Why?" I asked, vexed that he would visit me so late.

"Come with me. I have something I know you'll want to see." he replied. I sat on the edge of the bed and dressed.

Following him downstairs, he led me into the ballroom. He pressed against the wall facing us and it opened to reveal a passageway. It was a narrow stone stairway dimly lit by gas lamps along the walls. The steps seemed to spiral down and down until finally we reached the bottom. We were in a small room lit by hanging light-bulbs from the from the stone ceiling. It looked to be some sort of dungeon. In the center of this room was a chain-link cage.

"This is where you will learn to fight."

I entered the cage and I walked around its perimeter, running my hand through the chain-link.

"Here?" I asked.

"Yes-well, maybe not here just yet. You'll need plenty of space to learn the moves."

I turned to him and crossed my arms with a smirk.

"So when do I start?"

I watched a smile creep upon his face.

"Anytime you want. We'll have to be careful, of course. God forbid your precious mother find out!" he replied and I knew he was mocking the love for my mother, which was a dangerous move indeed.

"You leave her alone!" I hissed, stepping into his face. He smirked and folded his arms.

"Leave her alone? Your mother? Why should I? She's a grown woman and I think she can decide for herself who she wants to be with."

I could feel my blood boiling and the heat rising in my body.

"You don't know anything!" I exclaimed.

I threw a few punches and each time, he swerved and ducked them. My frustration only grew at this, and so I swung madly until I was out of breath.

"You-you don't deserve her." I panted.

Marc Antoní stood calmly, almost like he had not moved at all. I could not understand how he remained like that while he was being attacked. It didn't make sense.

"Spoken like a master! _Ay mí_ , but, you are just a boy. I hardly think you know who is and isn't deserving of your mother's love." he replied.

Well, _I_ certainly was deserving of her love in every sense of the word. I knew it deep down in my bones. I also knew that she deserved so much more in her life than was given; she deserved only good, pure things—and he was neither.

"I know far more than you think, _Señor!_ I won't let you steal her away! My mother is gentle and delicate. I have always been there for her, and I always will."

Marc Antoni continued to stare at me, unmoved by my rage.

"Her little protector, I see. A fine _matador_." he said and I could still hear the sarcasm in his tone. "Her valiant white knight ready and willing, but does she not see the tarnish beginning to show on your brilliant armor?"

I swung again and missed. He ducked and swerved with ease, my punches hitting the air, and with a quick movement, he laid a punch into my stomach. I staggered back, reflexively holding my stomach and before I could look up, he laid an uppercut punch on my jaw, throwing me back. I finally laid a punch to his jaw and I smirked in satisfaction, ready for the next hit. Joy was short-lived when he kicked me with a roundhouse kick, sending me off my feet and face-first to the floor. I rose; the air was knocked from my lungs, and I coughed and sputtered, holding my nose with one hand.

"You bastard! My face!" I cried. "I'll kill you!"

"One of the main features of savate is the kicks. It is kick-boxing after all." he said, removing my hand from my nose, and the blood poured down my face. I wiped my fingers across my lips, and then licked them.

"How does it taste, Vega?"

At this point, I did not know how I really felt. Just the pain and surprise from the hit, and yet there was a growing sense of elation inside of me. The blood streamed down my mouth and began to stain my shirt, so I removed it.

"Mm, _delicioso!_ Tastes like red wine. I want more. I want it." I said, raising my hands and preparing myself. "I want yours."

"Good. Then, I will oblige! My blood you will earn." he replied, raising his leg for a high kick. Again I was knocked in the face but the force only jarred me.

"Not the face!" I cried, rubbing my jaw and feeling my teeth.

"Pretty little boy!" he sneered, "Do you think your opponents will care where they hit you?"

"Not my face, damn you!" I screamed back at him, spitting blood on his face.

He wiped it away and I could finally see the signs of annoyance appearing.

"Oh, I see the darkness in your eyes, Vega. I see such hunger. A blood-thirsty hunger that your precious mother could never stand a chance against! You know this is true, too, don't you? Why else come to me, then? Am I not your enemy? Your rival? You know the only way to contain such darkness is to succumb to it."

I could not disagree with him, even if I wanted to then. For once he was right, but what I felt wasn't darkness. It wasn't darkness at all; but even standing there, mere inches from his face, he continued.

"You can't protect her, Vega. You can't save her. You can't even save yourself. Not unless you succumb. Become as you were meant to be—strong, brave, and hungry. Keep your hunger, Vega, for it will forever drive you...but until then, you must let fate lie where it will."

"Fate? What? No! I was sworn to protect her, and if I have to my soul to keep her from the likes of you, I will."

"I think you've already done that." he said with a smirk. "Tell me, is it God that made you her savior?"

"It does not matter now; heaven, hell, I was born to protect her, keep her from pain."

"And if it's too late? How then would you save her?"

"Too late? No! She's-she's-"

"She's what?" he cooed in his smug voice.

"Mine!" was all I could manage to stammer in my bewilderment and rage. Marc Antoni continued to stand there, coolly watching my reaction.

" _Yours?_ Oh! I wonder what your dear mother would say? If she's yours, then show me." he drawled.

"What?" I hissed. The last time my father uttered such a thing, I nearly vomited.

" _Show me_. Show me how much you love her-defend her honor if you dare!" Marc Antoni swung at my head and I ducked in time to feel his fist connecting with my jaw.

I barreled forward at him, madly punching towards him. Each time he blocked my attack with his hands.

"Weak. Your temper will get the better of you, Vega. I warned you; I know all your weaknesses and now I can go in for the kill." he said, and he looked extremely serious, his cold green eyes were dark and gleaming with an ominous light at me, all the smugness suddenly gone from his face.

I stood there, my fists clenched and ready, but my mouth stood open, trying to form words that would not come out. A strong punch to the stomach and a sweep of his leg, I was now on the ground again, panting, the wind knocked from me.

"When you're angry, you can't focus, and when you can't focus, your opponent wins, see?" he said, helping me up. I held my stomach and glared at him.

"So, what do I do?" I asked.

"First up, learn to defend yourself. An enemy can use more than physical attacks to get you; you opened yourself up for attack the minute you reacted to your mother." he said and he grinned his crocodile like smile; I was relieved again at its appearance.

"You started it!" I hissed.

"That's true; I did, but the best fighter doesn't start the fight—the best fighter is the one who finishes it. Come now, Vega. I think you've had enough for tonight. If we bruise you up too badly, your mother will wonder what happened."

* * *

The next morning, I joined Mother and Marc Antoni on his veranda for breakfast. My jaw was sore and my lip was fat. There was no way I could hide it now and I tried to tell myself that it would not scar. The idea of one single scar on my face mortified me though.

"Good morning, my _Narcís_." she said as I took a seat next to her. Marc Antoní sat across from us and nodded at me in acknowledgment as he chewed his food.

"Good morning, Moth-"

" _Déu meu_!" she cried, a loud clank against the plate as she dropped her knife and fork. My heart thumped and I tried to avoid her stare.

"What-what happened to your face?" she said, turning my face to her.

"I-I wasn't watching where I was going and I tripped on one of the rugs in the hallway."

I could hear Marc Antoní snickering without a sound across the table already. It had to be the worst excuse I could come up with.

"Oh my darling, you must be more careful!" said Mother, squeezing my hand while it was under the table. Marc Antoni drank his coffee and I could see that gleam in his eye again. I squeezed her hand hard.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	12. Trust?

There was not much to do around there, especially during the day. Mother and I spent our _siestas_ wandering in his garden. Louie XIV himself could not have had one more lush; with its winding gray stone pathways that spiraled around elegant topiary in Labyrinthine fashion, and fields of flowers growing everywhere in between, there could be no greater paradise. It was like our own Eden, free from any worries or fear.

The beautifully clement spring weather of _Lyons_ seemed to make my mother blossom, like a rose budding in the sun, finally free from the cold reality of my father's presence. I began to think however, it was more than the weather that made her bloom; never-so was she more radiant than when she was with Marc Antoní. I wondered why she suddenly felt so free around him, and yet with me, I could only make her smile—a ray of sunlight in the darkness against the radiant beacon of the sun...

We lie sprawled upon his great lawn, sipping cool lemonade in the afternoon sun, my head in her lap. A light breeze blew, carrying the fragrant scent of flowers all around us. Petals of every color rained upon us like a heavenly snow. I strummed on a guitar, not really playing anything in particular.

Learning Spanish guitar was a skill I started learning very young. My parents always said it was good to know how to play at least one instrument. I was happy to learn the style of my country.

"Play something, _el meu amor_. You play so beautifully." she cooed in Catalan. The gentle lilt of our native language was heaven to my ears.

"Any requests?"

"Oh, anything." she sighed, stroking my hair. "It's heaven here! I could stay forever."

I stopped playing and sat up. " _Forever?_ How can we stay? Can't we go home, back to Barcelona?"

" _Ay, no_. You _know_ we can't, Vega. It's too dangerous. Besides, Marc Antoni has been so nice! As long as he wants us here, we will stay." I sighed.

"I don't trust him, Mother. How does he even know us?" Mother shifted and looked away and then looked at me again with a smile. I could see she was uneasy, though I did not understand why. Did she know something about this sleazy man that I did not? I made the choice to be at his home for my own purposes, and aside from him seducing my mother, I did not see him as a danger. But perhaps there was something more...

"We're aristocrats, Vega. Everyone in society _knows_ us, one way or another."

"I doubt the King will be inviting us to the palace anytime soon." I muttered and she chuckled.

"Marc Antoni is an aristocrat, like us. Those in society help those in need."

"I didn't know we accepted charity, Mother."

"Vega!" she exclaimed, lightly hitting my arm. "It isn't charity when you're wealthy! Now, why don't you like him?" she stroked my hair behind my ear. "Did he say something, _do..._ something...to you?" and she leaned over, looking into my eyes.

"N-no, Mama. It's nothing like that..." I stammered, looking down. "It's just, I don't like the way he looks at you." Mother fell back onto the grass with a laugh.

"Oh my, _Narcis_!" and she pulled me down beside her with a sigh. "Such a nice day."

I studied her face for a moment. She really did seem so much more happier and carefree here. I did not want this moment to end but I knew if I had to be around _him_ for much longer, it would be unbearable.

"I think it's getting far too hot in the sun! Let's go for a walk." she said, standing up and then pulling me up beside her.

We were quiet while we walked down the path in the shade of some trees, hand in hand—another day in Eden. She swung our arms back and forth, like when I was a child and she giggled.

"You know that I love you. He can't take my heart." she said, looking at me seriously. I held my breath; my heart pounded and it felt like it would burst from my chest. I exhaled when I saw her smile at me.

"I know." I muttered, looking down, although I was not completely convinced it was true. She lifted my chin to look into her eyes. Warm and concerned, as always

"Mama..."

" _T'estimo més que la meva vida..._ " she whispered.

Just as I thought she was going to say something more, I saw Marc Antoni approaching us with his usual smugness.

"Hello, my friends!"

"Marc Antoni, I thought you had a meeting."

"I won't be going to anymore meetings, Victoria. I am now free for lunches, so I thought I would join you. I am not interrupting your _siesta_ , I hope."

"Oh, no, no. Vega and I have just finished." I glared at her. "We're just enjoying a walk around your wonderful garden."

"I see! I'm happy to see others enjoying it as much as I do. Shall we?" he said and my mother suddenly let go of my hand, running a few steps ahead to take his extended arm.

I walked slowly behind them, watching. The sight of those two walking around the garden, laughing, talking, and giggling like children was a sickening sight, indeed. I lamented how barren my precious Eden had become, my mother being stolen away by some _obnoxious_ libertine right before my eyes.

I began to go into sort of a daze as I walked behind them, meditating on my bitter thoughts. I could no longer hear their chatter, lost in my own world. Mother ran up to me, taking my hand, pulling me out of them. She stood in front of me, her eyes gleaming, and she grinned like an excited teenager.

"Marc Antoni said he'd take me to the symphony! Isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful." I muttered.

"Oh but of course, you're invited, too. You know I can't go anywhere without you." she squeezed my hand and laced her fingers through mine, snuggling up against me as if she had been at my side the whole time. I could see she was completely oblivious now to my lack of enthusiasm.

We walked hand-in-hand again with our host taking a leisurely stride beside us, pointing out all the wonders of his beautiful garden. I felt as though she was not even there, like walking with a ghost. Her warmth and beauty had no meaning at that moment. It was from then on that I decided to take my afternoon _siesta_ indoors, languishing until evening fell.

I coasted through dinner later that night, watching my mother and our host happily chatting at the table. My mother was dressed in a black evening dress; it had one long sleeve, accented by a shoulder pad and the other side was sleeveless, cut in a deep V neck down the front; the skirt fell just above her knees; she also wore black stockings and matching high heels; I had never seen my mother wear much of this color outside of funerals, and the odd cut of the dress reminded me more of one of those _avant garde_ paintings that were so popular then.

I was slouched in my chair; she stretched her leg out, slipping out of her shoe and rubbing a toe against _Señor_ Gauldera's leg. I sat up and cleared my throat. It was mostly in an attempt to distract myself from the sudden nausea at seeing such a sight. They scarcely noticed.

I could do almost nothing but watch as everything I loved was destroyed; the pretense of a happy relationship with my mother was all that I had. The only thing that made me feel alive at that place was my nightly sparring with Marc Antoni, where I could take out my hatred of him and train at the same time—

" _Ay!_ "

"Are you okay, Vega?" asked my mother, stopping in mid sentence to look at me.

And pain. It was nothing, only the fork I twisted into my hand from shear boredom. I eagerly licked away the blood as they continued to talk. Such solace it contained; I was fortunate in that I did not stab deeply enough to cause scarring on my precious hand, no. Just enough to prick the skin.

My actions did not go unnoticed, however. I saw that a young maid watched me and I saw the silent horror creep upon her face as I lapped up the blood. Her blue eyes widened, her hand covered her mouth, causing her to drop a bottle of wine. The sudden clatter caused Marc Antoni and my mother to look over. Marc Antoni scolded the girl.

"I've got it." I said, leering at the maid as I bent down to pick up the shattered pieces.

"Vega, you shouldn't do that. It's _her_ job." interjected Mother.

"No no, it's fine, _Mother_." She gave me a scornful look and then resumed talking.

I could hear the maid's breath quicken, and I was certain that if I were close enough, I could hear her heart pound. " _Mademoiselle._ " I whispered with a grin.

" _Non, non, mon Seignior. Si vous plait!_ " she cried.

I scooped up some of the broken pieces of glass and laid them on the table. I watched her continue to pick up the glass, and waited eagerly to see if she would cut herself.

I admired her body while she was bent down beside me; in her cute black and white maid's uniform; the short skirt and white apron over it. The uniform seemed to caress every curve of her body. Her breasts poking impossibly against the fabric. My heart pounded and I could feel my hunger growing.

While Marc Antoni regarded the girl and her clumsiness with disdain, I watched in amusement. I took a sip of red wine and licked my lips.

"Mm, _delicioso._ " I said, looking back at the girl. She gasped and whimpered. I chuckled, taking another sip and pretended to listen to their idle conversation. Every so often, I would glance back at her and watch her squirm. Marc Antoni finally ordered her from the room, and so I excused myself.

I followed the maid down the hallway, sneaking up behind her and clamping my hand over her mouth.

"Don't scream," I said in her ear. I kept one hand over mouth, finding a deserted corner of the corridor where we could not easily be seen.

"I saw you watching me. Did you like it?" I whispered and I heard her muffled cries from behind my hand. "It's all right. They all enjoy me and you will, too." I lifted up her dress and pulled down her precious white panties. It surprised me to see there were long cuts across her back and bottom, the kind that a whip would make.

I removed my hand from her mouth, and pressed her against the wall, her hands pinned up beside her head. I spread her legs, pushing some fingers inside of her, and I knew she was ready.

I ground my hips into her, smashing her against the wall again and again and I could hear her cries. I felt such bliss hearing them, knowing she was enjoying it as much as I. The only thing that would have made it better was to see her face of ecstasy at that moment.

"You're so beautiful," I panted in her ear, "you didn't have to hide, you know. Girls are kind of cute when they are clumsy—and besides, I already knew I wanted you." I bit her earlobe, the salty taste of her flesh in my mouth, the softness between my teeth. I wanted more of her, so much more. I turned her so that her back was against the wall, her wrists pinned above her head with one hand, my other hand supporting me against the wall. I beheld her tear-soaked face, a ghastly river of black. I smiled and licked the salty bitterness of her tears from her cheeks. I was consumed by her heat, the softness of her body and how it felt so much like silk and velvet—the scent of her feminine aroma—so intoxicating.

"P-please! Please let me go. I promise I won't tell." she cried.

"Of course you won't." I smiled at her, seeing the terror shining in her eyes. It made her all the more irresistible to me.

As she strained I admired the muscles of her neck and noticed how the soft blue veins began to show. I nuzzled her neck, smelling her skin, imaging the blood pulsating beneath.

A pure woman's blood tastes as sweet as honey and it is as divine as ambrosia. Only in ecstasy is it sweeter.

This was my chance; I was getting so close now and I could no longer hold back. Pressing my mouth to hers, I bit down, sucking the sweet blood from her lips. I could hear her muffled screaming as the thick, warm, blood seeped into my mouth.

"You-you taste so good," I drawled, the blood dripping from my mouth, feeling high from the pleasure. Her eyes were still wide but then I watched as they rolled back into her head. It was all too much for me, my senses overwhelmed. I came inside of her and then collapsed over her body a moment, catching my breath. The girl moaned beneath me and when I let go of her, she fell into a heap in the corner.

"Vega!" I froze as I heard my name being called.

"Shh," I whispered, and then with a smile, I bent down and kissed her bloodied lips.

I peered around the corner to see Mother coming out of the dining room.

"Vega, I'm going to bed." she called, coming into the corridor.

I wiped my mouth and then I tucked myself in, glancing back down at the girl, who looked up at me through her eyelids. I smirked, feeling quite satisfied. I crept out of the corridor, and ran straight into Mother as she walked towards the staircase.

"Oh, there you are, darling. I'm going to bed now." she said, kissing my cheeks.

"Alright, Mama. I'm not tired yet."

"Aren't you? It's been such a long day. I'm so very tired." she said and feigned a yawn. "Aren't you coming?"

I smiled and shrugged with my hands in my pockets. She stood there, quietly, waiting for my answer.

"Goodnight," I said, leaning forward and kissing her cheek. She sighed and I watched her continue up the stairs. I then smoothed my hair back from my face and checked to see my clothing was not out of place. I was perfection again.

I arrived later that night in the dungeon, finding Marc Antoni talking on the phone. He wore the usual attire of a _savateur_ ; he was shirtless, wearing black trousers and shoes. He informed me that in typical competition, some wore whole _savate_ suits for this purpose. Marc Antoni did not seem the sort to do anything typical.

I managed to hear the last few words before he hung up.

"I think he's about ready. He's learning fast and even for his age, shows a blood thirst unseen. I think the Master would be pleased. Yes, goodbye."

"Late night meeting, Gauldera?"

"So, there you are."  
" _Sí. Estic aquí._ "

He gave me a wry smile.

"Vega, I would appreciate it if you didn't molest my maids anymore."

"What? How did you...?"

Again the man gave me a smirk, his eyes gleaming, but there was something so... _foreboding_ about them. I stood my ground, but now knowing what darkness lay behind those eyes, I listened carefully.

"You aren't hard to figure out, you know. I know your taste for girls...and I watched you leave. I knew you were up to something when you dismissed yourself so suddenly—right after I had dismissed my maid."

"Why not? That's what they're here for, isn't it?"

"Vega, I am not your father-"

"Thank God for that!" I interjected with a sneer and his green eyes suddenly darkened.

"You cannot abuse them as you please! My servants cost money. I need them in order to run my household efficiently." he shouted.

I refused to be intimidated by a hypocrite who whipped and beat his maids for every failure. They were beneath me; there was no reason I could not treat them the same way.

"They are servants; they are _made_ to serve, even on their knees."

He began to walk towards me and I could see his shoulders tense, the veins in his neck raised, and his jaw set. I could not help but to back away; he stopped before me, rubbing his mouth and then clearing his throat. I knew he was trying to control what little of his temper he had left.

"Vega, I admire your... _appetite_ , but if you want girls, I will get you girls. By the score."

"What makes you think I need _you_ to get me girls? I do just fine getting them on my own."

Marc Antoni gave a heavy sigh, but it sounded more like a growl.

"That may be so, but I want you to leave the help alone."

"And _I_ want you to leave my mother alone."

"Ha! You make it sound as if I'm bothering her!"

"You're bothering _me_." I sneered and he laughed. Whatever his rage, it had passed and now his haughty gleam was back in his eyes.

"Do you want me to leave your mother alone? Fine. Stay away from my maids."

" _Fine._ " I turned away but he turned me to face him again.

"I'm not done." his voice was serious again.

I folded my arms, shifting my weight.

" _What?_ " I snickered.

"You're here to fight, to learn, aren't you?"

I lifted my fists, ready to fight, my eyes gleaming and my jaw set in determination. Marc Antoní walked around and checked my stance. He lowered my arms and straightened my shoulders.

"Good, good, Vega. Remember to keep your stance loose; _Savate_ is the art of street fighting and your blows could come at any moment, any time, from any where." Marc Antoní kicked at my shins, trying to shake my balance and my confidence. It hurt but I was determined not to show it. I did not flinch, I did not look at him.

"Very good!" he said, patting my shoulder. There was a silence and I could not help feeling he was leading into something."Vega," he said finally, "whatever my relationship with your mother, I don't want to be your father." I turned to him but did not drop my stance. "But if you're going to be a guest in my home, and I am your teacher, then I think we should at least be friends."

" _Friends?_ "

"That means that you will have to trust me." I ground my teeth.

"Trust you? You already sound like my father!" I exclaimed.

"Teachers are not unlike fathers, right?"

"Can I trust you with my mother?"

"Vega, I would never hurt her. Never. She is an old, dear friend and she needs someone to look after her."

" _I_ look after her!" I said, pointing to my chest. "Me! She doesn't need anyone else."

"We'll _both_ look after her, okay? She needs strong men in her life to care for her."

I sighed reluctantly.

"All right."

"Friends?" Marc asked, extending his hand.

"Friends." I replied, shaking his hand.

"Well, Vega, I don't have much to go over tonight. Why don't you go to bed? I have a surprise for you tomorrow."

I nodded and headed back up to my room. I wondered what surprises lay in store for me now that we had forged this sort of alliance—well, for me, it was more like a truce.

I did not have to wonder long as I entered my bedroom; there sprawled across my bed and giggling were two girls, naked and waiting. I found a note on my bedside table.

__  
  
VEGA, I THOUGHT YOU WOULD ENJOY THESE...THIS IS _ NOT _ _YOUR SURPRISE, HOWEVER. HAVE FUN!_

_YOUR FRIEND,_

_MARC ANTONÍ_

**  
TO BE CONTINUNED...**

**  
Glossary:**

_Non, non, mon Seignior. Si vous plait_ \- No, no, my Lord! Please!

_Sí. Estic aquí_ \- Yes, I'm here.

_T'estimo més que la meva vida_ \- I love you more than my life.


	13. A Cold Blue Kick

Later that night, after the girls had passed out in my bed, I put on my underwear and crept out of my room.

Marc Antoní's gift was _delicious_ —if he was trying to earn my trust, it was a start—he knew I was a pure hedonist, and appealing to these lusts was essential in gaining it. What teenage boy could

I cared only for my own pleasure, and I am sure that Marc Antoní paid the girls so well that they did not _need_ to care.

I opened the door to Mother's room. It was dark and quiet, nothing but the moon showing through her window. I could hear her breathing softly.

My head was so heavy with thoughts, and yet I did not climb into bed next to her. Instead, I crouched down against it while mother lay just above me. Seeing her sleeping there reminded me of a game she used to play with me when I was a toddler.

_Bella Dorment—Sleeping Beauty_ —it was something I liked to play at nap-time; I would sneak out of my room that was supposedly guarded by the watchful eye of my governess, and run to my mother's room, where she often took her afternoon nap at the same time I did. Seeing her lying there in all her perfect beauty reminded me of my favorite fairy tale, Sleeping Beauty.

I would creep up and kiss her, just like in the story, and then suddenly, her eyes would pop open, she would grab me, swing me around, and cuddle me against her. We would break into giggles and sometimes she would tickle me until we couldn't laugh anymore. Then we'd fall back asleep, with me snuggled tight in her arms.

"I can't trust him, Mother. I just can't." I whispered.

I felt fingers running through my hair.

"Vega? You're too old to play _Sleeping Beauty_ now." said Mother.

I turned to her.

"You still remember that, Mama?"

"Well of course I do!" she chuckled, "It was your very favorite story and we used to play it so often. I'll tell you a secret—I was never really asleep!"

I laughed.

"You weren't?"

"Well...maybe the first time. _Ay_ , you were so sweet..." she sighed, "I can still see your bright little face when you kissed me. How happy you were to see me wake up! Now, why aren't you in bed? What's wrong, darling?"

I laid my head down on the bed and she stroked my hair.

"Come to bed, Vega. Lay beside me and tell me what's wrong."

I climbed into bed and wrapped my arms around her tight. I could not shake my doubts, nor my suspicions, even though I laid next to the one person I cared for more than anything.

I buried my nose into her hair and sighed.

"Mama, is he your lover?"

She turned and I could see her eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"What? How could you ask me something like that?"

I crushed her against me, staring into her eyes.

"Is he?"

"Vega, you're holding me too tight!"

"Is he? Is he...my father?"

"What? _No!_ He's dead!" she cried, her voice choked with tears. "He's dead."

I loosened my grip on her.

"I'm sorry, Mama. You would tell me if you were in love with him, wouldn't you?"

"Nobody has my heart but you...but yes, I would tell you. Can we not talk about this anymore, Vega? I am very tired." Mother nuzzled against me and closed her eyes.

"Okay, Mama." I said, and I brushed a kiss against her lips. "Goodnight."

The next day, Marc Antoní summoned me to the garden. I found him waiting there, beside the fountain, and a tall pale boy stood next to him. It was the brilliant shock of turquoise of his long hair that caught my eye. He was a tall, thin boy, a few inches shorter than I, and his long, loose turquoise hair parted down the side hung lazily over his eyes, making him appear very mysterious to me. His face was long and angular. The boy wore a black leather jacket zipped all the way up with a high collar, hiding his chest from view; rather tight-fitting red jeans that flared at the bottom, and brown boots. He looked like he was into the punk scene, with his hair such an unusual color; it was hard to tell. He stood there, his shoulders hunched over, which did not suit his fine frame at all.

I watched him talk to _Señor_ Gauldera.

"Vega," said _Señor_ Gauldera, his warm loud voice tearing me from my thoughts as the two approached me.

"This is Remy." he said and I waited for a last name but none came. Remy stood there next to him, his head down, hair covering his eyes.

"Remy, this is Vega de Cerna."

I bowed politely.

" _Encantado de conocerte_." I replied.

He said nothing; I watched him fidget with the zipper on his jacket sleeves. I cleared my throat and said in French,

" _Enchanté._ " and at this, he looked up at me, and he brushed the hair out of his eyes momentarily. I could see now his eyes were a brilliant light blue, almost the exact color of his hair. Remy merely grunted in response.

"Remy here is a master at _Savate_." replied _Señor_ Gauldera, putting a familiar hand on his shoulder. "He is to be your partner,"

" _Partner?_ " I mumbled under my breath. Surely _Señor_ Gauldera was enough of a sparring partner.

Still, I could not help my attraction to this boy. He was so very mysterious and so very beautiful, just like me.

"Well, I will let you two get acquainted," said _Señor_ Gauldera taking his leave back to the house. Remy put his hands in his pockets, his head down, and began to walk ahead as we wandered through the lavish garden.

"So," I began, quickening my pace to match his lanky stride. "You are from France?" Remy scoffed at me with another quick smirk in my direction.

"Yes, of course."

"Ah, where at?" I asked and he continued staring as his feet as we walked. He did not answer, only shrugged.

"Well, _I_ am from Barcelona, Spain." I said, trying to get some sort of response.

"Good for you." he murmured. I sighed heavily, annoyed by his belligerent replies, but I did not let that deter me. I held my breath and did my best not to swear at him in my native tongue. My fluent French was going to be tested, I could tell.

"Did _Señor_ Gauldera ask you to be my partner? You know, I don't really need one..." I replied, trying to change the subject. Remy suddenly stopped and turned to me. His leather jacket stretched and creaked as he moved, and I could see one eye gazing at me, unobstructed by his turquoise tresses. I met his gaze and shifted my eyes downward again quickly. I could feel my cheeks burning and my chest tightening.

"Do you think that you are _too good_ for a partner?" he said with a smirk. I met his eyes again fiercely.

"I'm doing fine _alone!_ " I announced boldly. He suddenly stood straight and rigid before me, no longer hunched over. I beheld his thin, beautiful body and we stood eye to eye. I steeled myself to not take a step away and to not look away from him.

"How on _earth_ did a pretty boy like you learn to fight?" he asked.

_Look who's talking, Frenchie..._ I thought.

"Gauldera, he taught me!"

"As I thought. Don't you realize that the path you are taking will lead you nowhere?" he said, brushing the hair from his face.

"What?"

"This, fighting." he replied simply.

"Nowhere?" I gasped, though he continued to study me as coolly as a tiger stalking its prey, with his hand to his chin. "It is _everything_ , and I will have the power I deserve!" I said, my nostrils flaring as I saw flashes of all the pain I had endured, and the suffering of my beloved mother.

"Then you are truly shallow. Victory, glory, honor, power... those ideals don't excite me a bit."

_Shallow? He's calling_ _ **me**_ _shallow?_ _He doesn't even know me...what is he talking about?_

"Don't you care about _anything_?" I cried.

I barely had time to react as his fist came towards my face. Unsuccessfully, I tried to block it with my forearm as it hit the side of my jaw. I rubbed it as he took a few steps back, preparing for my attack.

"He told me you had a temper..." he said, his fists clench and ready to fight though he was still so calm. _What?_ Now _Señor_ Gauldera was talking about me to _him!_

"True rage burns from within and it consumes you until there is nothing left." Remy said, with an iciness I could not deny. In his blue eyes I could see the fire smoldering there and I was slightly unnerved but all the more intrigued.

Still, what did he know of rage? What pain has he suffered to make him want to hurt the ones he worshiped? I've known rage—pain, anger—behind that _façade_ of nobility, it was the mask of agony I was forced to wear for my own self-preservation. Now this blue-haired Frenchman was insulting me in every way possible. It made me even more determined to beat him.

Once more I assumed the stance, this time throwing a punch directly at his face and finally connected with it. With sweep of my leg, he fell to the ground on his back, pausing only long enough to wipe the blood from his bleeding lip and then rising to his feet. I smirked, entirely satisfied with myself, pleased that I could make him bleed.

"You are very sure of yourself," he said and I smirked at him. "It disgusts me."

"And you're very arrogant." I said, "Just how old are you?"

He ran his hand through his hair.

"I am nineteen, and _you_?"

"Sixteen," I replied.

"I thought you looked young. I can see why _M_ _onsieur_ Gauldera wanted me to train you."

" _Train_ me? I don't need you to train me."

Remy pushed the hair from his eyes and smirked at me. I was beginning to see that his repetitive gestures were like his own language. He seemed to be someone of few words but many actions.

Half expecting him to hit me, I was surprised as he turned and walked away. This was unacceptable to me, so I ran after him and grabbed his arm.

He whirled around and punched me square in the face, and I staggered backwards from the blow. Before I could recover, he kicked me in the stomach and knocked me down. Remy stood over me now, his foot pinning me to the ground. I gasped and choked, disoriented from the blow, the blood running down my throat. I struggled to pull his foot off my chest.

"Doesn't seem that way to me. Stay down! Or do you want me to hurt you again?"  
"Get off me, you bastard!" I yelled. "Get off, damn you!"

"Shut up!" he roared back, "I don't want to fight you."

"That's-that's not what I see in your eyes. Why would you threaten to hurt me and then say you don't want to fight?"

He removed his foot from my chest and helped me up. I could see his eyes gleaming, a roaring passionate fire.

"You're the same as me. You hunger to fight and I can see it in your eyes."

" _Non_ , we are not the same. Why do you fight? What's the point?" he asked, taking out a handkerchief and handing it to me. I held it over my nose for a few moments. I finally removed it as the bleeding subsided.

"My mother." I replied, and he looked at me, though his face showed no emotion. "I fight to protect her; she is so kind and beautiful, perfect. My father was an ugly, cruel, evil man who beat my mother everyday. He never touched me, but I still lived in fear of him. One day, he hurt her so badly she nearly died and I was too young to help her. From then on, I vowed to take care of her."

"I find your cause interesting, but I could never relate to it." he murmured.

"Then why do you fight?"

He looked off into the distance, the soft Spring breeze blowing through his hair.

"I...don't know."

I peered into his expressionless face, mystified by his apathy.

"There must be _something._ Some reason."

Remy pulled out a cigarette from his leather jacket and lit it. I watched him take a drag, the smoke drifting off in the breeze. He offered it to me and I shook my head; with a shrug, he took another drag.

We stood there in an awkward silence for a moment, and then I decided to go back into the house.

My first meeting with the enigmatic Remy went less than expected. It wasn't that I expected to have a partner anyway. I was so immediately taken by him, though. He stirred in me a burning curiosity I had not yet known. I was hopeful that the more I was with him, the more he would reveal.

I came back inside and as I went to go upstairs, I turned to see Mother sleeping on a sofa in the parlor. I smiled at such a serene sight and I could not help but to watch her sleep a moment. I stood over her, and then her eyes fluttered open and she sat up.

"Oh my _Narcís!_ Have you been in the garden—what happened to your shirt?"

"Oh, that. I had a bloody nose, that's all. I was going upstairs to change."

"I see. Get your tux out when you go upstairs. We're going to the opera tonight and we'll be having an early supper in a couple of hours."

I tried to suppress my annoyance; all I needed was yet another dull opera experience with my mother—and Marc Antoní in tow.

So, later that night I dressed in my tux and went to Mother's room to check on her. She sat at her vanity as usual, putting on some diamond earrings. She wore a tight, off-the-shoulder black dress, her hair was in a chignon, and her lips a fiery red.

"Well?" she asked, smiling. I leaned against the door way, with my tux coat over my shoulder; I was hesitant to say anything. Due to the tightness of the dress, my eyes were drawn towards every curve of her body; that dress was just not appropriate. It was was cut so short, and unlike anything I had seen her wear in my life. My heart pounded, and I felt the urge to drape my coat over her shoulders.

She stood and twirled, modeling her dress and giving me a full view.

Mother frowned, seeing my face.

"Don't you like it?"

"I...it's lovely, Mother."

She straightened my bow-tie and smiled, though it seemed uneasy.

"Well, it _is_ the latest in evening wear! Why do I not feel convinced?"

I saw Marc Antoni in the mirror, standing in the doorway and I looked back at her. I touched her face and resisted an urge to smear her perfect red lipstick with my finger; she smiled at me, her blue-green eyes watching me for an answer.

"Truly, you are perfect! But I do not like your... _accessories_." I replied, glaring in the mirror.

"That's _enough_ , Vega!" she scoffed, seeing my face. "I do not understand why you are behaving like this suddenly! If you don't want to go with us, you can just stay home!"

"Promises, promises..." I muttered. Ordinarily, I would have, but I just could not bear letting him be alone with her.

"Are we ready to go?" asked Marc Antoní.

"Yes," she replied, carrying her head high and walking deliberately ahead of me out the door.

"Marc Antoni," I said, leaning in close. "Will Remy be joining us?"

"I'm afraid not, Vega. Remy likes to keep to himself. He is in his room. It is best that you don't bother him."

I sighed. What a night this would be!

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	14. The Light of Virtue

We entered the theatre, the finely dressed people greeting Marc Antoní, passing on the way to our seats. We sat in a balcony seat, in an old theatre decorated in gold brocade. I looked around as it began to fill. Old women in their black sequin gowns and pearls, they fanned themselves with their lace and feather fans; their husbands sitting stately next to them in tuxes and smoking cigars.

I leaned against my mother to take in her rose smell, a welcome scent against the odorous smell of aged perfume. She seemed like an excited child now; her eyes sparkled like her jewelry. I did not care about the opera; I had no real love for it at all but seeing her so happy lifted my spirits.

She sat between us, her opera glasses in hand, anxiously waiting for the opera to start. I watched Marc Antoni closely and he leaned in, whispering to her; she giggled and I crossed my legs and folded my arms. I wanted to pull her away from him—but no, that would not have done in the theatre. I wondered why Marc Antoní made me a party to their relentless flirting. It seemed like some vain attempt for us to bond, but he still had much farther to go.

"Isn't this wonderful?" she whispered, her voice had so much excitement in it. "This is the first time I've been unafraid to go out in such a long time. Oh Vega, I am so happy!" I nodded.

"You're so quiet tonight. I know you enjoy this as much as I do. Is anything wrong?"

"No, Mama. Enjoy the opera tonight, okay?" she smiled at me.

Marc Antoní leaned over, his beaming smile as always.

"I've seen the production 5 times now! It's really spectacular." I nodded vaguely and slouched down into my seat.

"What are we seeing?" asked Mother.

" _Carmen._ "

I knew the opera well; about the gypsy girl in an ill-fated loved triangle. I decided that Marc Antoní couldn't have chosen a better play; but of course, the fact that it was set in _Sevilla_ and featured a bullfighter made me even more homesick.

"Vega, I thought you might appreciate this one." he said to me with friendly nod. I gave him a wry smile, my mother all the while oblivious.

I sat there, shifting uncomfortably during the opera. I watched black tears fall down my mother's cheeks and then Marc Antoní deftly take out his handkerchief and hand it to her. She dabbed at her cheeks and I rolled my eyes with a sigh. I shifted in my seat again, contemplating leaving when she grabbed my hand; she held it tight and I looked at her. Mother stared straight ahead as if it were nothing.

"Mother," I whispered to her, but she did not respond. I stroked her cheek and wiped a black smudge away. I saw Marc Antoní from the corner of my eye glance at us and I smiled to myself. I had won this round.

We arrived home much later that night and after I had said my reluctant goodnight to Mother, there was one other matter which I knew would not allow me to sleep.

Down the hall from me lay the beautiful Frenchman and his secrets. Marc Antoní forbade me to disturb him but I had _yet_ to listen to him; the temptation of discovering who Remy was tore at me.

Despite my tall height, my light and lean frame allowed me to move quietly about the house—a skill I learned as a child to hide from my father, now further perfected in the smooth agility of my fighting skills.

I crept down the hall to a door, the last door in the row across from mine. It was shut but I found it was unlocked; I opened it a crack. It was dark and not a sound from the room. I slipped into his room now and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I found his leather jacket hanging from the back of a chair. I picked it up and began to dig through the pockets, eager to learn anything about him. I found his wallet inside a pocket and pulled it out. Inside I did not find much except a few Francs, not even an identification of some sort; but then as I rifled through the bills, I found a very small picture. It was the picture of a young girl, seemingly close to my age, with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was beautiful! I was entranced by her, so much so that I did not realize that Remy woke up. Before I could blink, he flew from the bed and slammed me against the wall.

"What are you doing in here?" the lanky Frenchman hissed, pinning me by the throat.

I was completely caught off guard struggled to pull away from him.

"I-I..."

Remy released his grip and I caught my breath.

"I just wanted to know who you are."

"Why does it matter who I am? I am no one!"

He swung at me and I ducked, laying a kick to his stomach; he flew back but quickly regained his balance.

"I was curious!" I blurted out. It did not seem to be the best thing I could have said at the moment.

"So you break into my room, into _my_ things?"

He walked towards me, and I tried to get away from him, get to the door. I saw the picture on the floor and picked it up.

"Who is she?" I asked, flashing it in his face. He tore it from my hands.

"Fuck off!"

"Who is she?" I screamed and he shoved me away.

"She is nothing...she is...no one." he murmured, almost so faintly that I didn't hear him. He dropped down on the bed, his face in his hands; he seemed to have no objection when I moved beside him.

"Who is she?" Remy just sat there, silent and I waited for him to speak.

"My sister."

I looked at the photo and blinked.

"She is beautiful."

"She _was_..." he murmured. "She's dead."

"I'm sorry. What happened?"

Slumping forward, his hair hung over his eyes and with a heavy sigh, he shook his head.

"My sister was the only one I had, the only one who understood me. I tried to take care of her after our father left—and I failed!" he cried, clutching the picture hard enough to crumple it. "It is _his_ fault she is dead. Do you want to know why I fight eh, pretty boy?" he said, his voice rising. Remy glared at me, his eyes flashing. I watched him swallow a lump in his throat and then he spoke. "To _destroy_ men like him." I could not deny a certain chill come over me as I looked at him. I knew that hatred, that anger, that passion. It was clear we had a similar fate, though at least I had already killed my father.

I nodded.

"I understand. I would die to protect my mother. She is the dearest person in the world to me."

He looked at me, and he seemed puzzled though I did not see why.

"Then you must not let her fall." he said. "You must not fail as I have or it will consume you."

"Oh I will not fail. I am too _good_ to fail. God has made me His warrior and I will do what I must."

"You sound so sure of yourself for somebody so young." I rolled my eyes; it wasn't as if he was _that_ much older than me.

" _My_ age? I'm not a child. I can take care of myself! And you? What makes you so confident?"

He gave me a wry smile from beneath his turquoise locks.

"Experience."

I scoffed and folded my arms.

"Just how much experience have you had in 3 more years of living than I?"

"More than you, rich boy." Remy laughed.

It was a soft laugh, a quiet laugh, much like himself; but it was lovely. In fact, I was surprised he laughed at all. Something about his mouth drew me in; something so unexplainable that I found myself leaning forward, desperate to feel his lips against mine.

Before I knew it, he punched me so hard I landed head over heels onto the floor. He stood, his fists clenched.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he roared. "Get out!"

I scrambled to my feet, backing against the door and struggling to open it. My heart pounding, my cheeks burning, I got out of there as quickly as my feet would allow.

I ran into my room, and went to my dresser, staring into the mirror. My lip bled and I wiped it away. A cool, white heat rushed through me, I knocked the lamp from the table and it shattered on the ground. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen. No—the most beautiful _person_ I had ever seen—and he denied _me_.

Still burning, I decided to go downstairs and vent some steam.

I entered the cage and took off my shirt. A punching bag hung there and I began punching and kicking it. My face burned and my heart pounded with each blow I made, imagining it was Remy's face.

"Haven't you had enough?"

I heard the voice of Remy and I looked to see him slinking into the room. I kicked the punching bag in his direction, catching it in my hands once it swung back.

"Haven't _you_?"

He entered the cage and I removed the bag from the hook. Remy zipped the sleeves of his jacket and brushed the hair from his face.

" _En garde_ ,"

I held my stance and Remy came barreling at me, fists flying. I blocked him and laid a kick to his stomach, sending him back.

"Do you really think this is going to stop me, _fag_?" he snickered.

"I'm not gay!" I hissed. "I can have any girl I want!"

"Then you are confused! Do I look like a girl to you?"

"I am _not_ confused! I know what I want—and I take it!" I cried, lunging at him.

I pummeled him, laying a few more kicks in quick succession. There was a blinding blue light and I landed on my back.

" _Cold blue kick!_ "

My vision cleared and I saw Remy standing over me, fists clenched.

"Not today, pretty boy."

I could feel the blood running down my lip. Again, he defeated me and again I lay on the ground. I could not bear this humiliation much longer.

"Wha-what happened?" I stammered, in spite of myself.

Remy chuckled and I sat up.

"I kicked your spoiled rich ass! You don't think I've known people like you, eh? The filthy nobility who think that just because they are rich, they can have whatever—and _whoever_ they want." he smirked at me and I could see a wicked gleam in his eye behind those turquoise tresses. "You know, during the Revolution, we used to cut the heads off of people like you," Remy spat at me and I clutched at the dirt and threw it in his face. I jumped up and pinned him face-first against the cage, twisting his arm behind his back.

"'...And the streets ran red with blood...'" I snickered. "I think that's my favorite part."

He squirmed from my grasp and pushed me back.

" _Light of virtue!_ " he exclaimed, flashes of blue light flying from his hands. I jumped back out of the way, narrowly missing being hit by the balls of blue light. I could feel the heat as one flew passed my face. I rubbed my cheek.

"What was _that_?"

"Power; it is what you lack. Your kicks are weak, just like your punches." And then, the thin beautiful boy put his hands together as if they were cradling a ball, and blue light began to form. Remy snickered,

"The Chinese call it _Qi_ , the Japanese call it _Ki_. It is energy, light, matter. Our very essences that come from inside of us."

I found myself mesmerized by the light, and the gentle waves flowing through his hair, making it appear to be even more blue, and his pale skin even more pale.

"Can I learn to do that?"

"I do not think so. Someone as shallow as you possesses not the strength for such a thing."

"You can't call me shallow if you do not know me!" I retorted.

"I do not _need_ to know you to know that," he said, "even now I see you, not one hair out of place; you gasp at the sight of your own blood. You value that which is only on the outside because you have nothing on the inside." When he said this, it was with a coolness that was characteristic of him. He didn't seem to have much emotion. I had plenty of emotion, though, and I felt my blood boil.

"You mock me!" I exclaimed, "I am a warrior of God and so I am perfection, I am flawless."

" _God?_ What God, eh? Why does it matter? God does not matter to me."

"You deny God? Then no doubt He denies you. Only someone as _godless_ as you could possess a power like that."

"Ah, there you are, boys. Late night sparring?" I turned to see Marc Antoní. He surveyed us with his usual confident gleam and grimaced at me when he saw my bleeding lip.

"I told you to leave him alone, but you refused to listen. Perhaps now you will." I scoffed at the man and left the cage.

"He is right though, Vega. You don't have that kind of power, but what you _do_ have is something all your own..."

I folded my arms and cocked my head.

"And what powers do I possess that he does not?"

"Vega, the truth will come in blood."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**


	15. Friend or Foe?

I marveled at his words and he put his arm around my shoulder, leading me to a back door, hidden in the wall. I wondered just how much stuff he had hidden in this place.

When he opened the door, I discovered it was not so much a room as a sort of shelf; and on it hung every piece of weaponry imaginable. I walked passed each weapon, hungering to touch it; I noticed some star-shaped discs.

"Ah, _Shuryken_." he said. "Those are throwing stars, used in the art of _Ninjutsu_."

"You mean like... _ninja_?" I asked and my heart raced.

"Or _shinobi_ , as they are commonly referred to in Japan."

I saw every kind of mace, flail, axe, and sword, and while I was familiar with all of them, I found that I just was not as drawn to them. I stopped at what looked like a glove with three long blades coming out of it like claws.

" _Kurasu_ ," he informed me, "Or claw, also used in _Ninjutsu_. They can have any number of blades on them, though three is also common. Here, Vega. Try it on." He lifted it from the display and slid it over my left hand.

"How does that feel?" he asked, buckling the strap around my hand. I ran my finger carefully down the sharp blades and admired how they shined in the dim light. My lips curved into an irrepressible smile told him all he needed to know. I thrust my arm out, stabbing at the air and Remy flinched. I imagined his pretty mouth bleeding, just as mine had done.

"This, Vega, is a tool of the ninja. It is a weapon like any other except in how you use it." I continued punching and stabbing at the air.

"So this is how he will fight? Pretty boy can't really fight so he uses a weapon? Do you find this fair, Gauldera?" Remy pushed the hair from his face.

"Fair? Fighting is never _fair_. It is simply a matter of who wins and who survives. Do you think you'd do any better?"

Remy folded his arms and shifted his weight with a scowl.

"I don't need anything so...primitive."

Gauldera grinned and patted my shoulder. I could see the pride gleaming in his eyes.

"It is a matter of perspective. Vega is a vicious fighter, a gallant _matador_ if I've ever seen one. You may have power, but he has hunger. So, boys, how about it? Care to try a round?"

" _Mon dieu!_ Are you crazy? He'll kill me!"

"What's the matter, Remy? Are you afraid? What about your power, hm?" Gauldera chuckled. I smirked at his shocked expression.

"There will be no maiming during this match."

My heart sank. I longed for revenge after my repeated humiliation at his hands and I longed for his blood—just a little bit was all I wanted—just enough to mar his perfect face, enough to let me savor his defeat. I was not one to stay down long, however, when an idea came into my mind.

"Pity. I wanted his blood." I said, peering into his mysterious blue eyes, running my hand over my claw with a grin.  
A look of terror, and perhaps some anger shown on his normally emotionless face. His delicious lips quivered.

"Well, if I can't have your blood, I'll settle for your secrets."

I knew that more than anything, I wanted to know him. I wanted to understand him and this was one way I could do it when conventional socializing failed.

"What?" he cried.

"Remy, I think Vega has a wonderful idea. For each hit made, you will answer a question. Anything he asks, and you may do the same of him."

"I won't fight this... _freak_!" he spat and I grimaced.

Marc Antoní walked towards him and I could see Marc Antoni's body tense. He grabbed Remy by the shoulders and Remy's eyes widened. I smiled knowing now he would see Marc Antoni's wrath.

"You _will_ fight him! The Master is very anxious to see what progress he is making and I _won't_ disappoint him." his voice was low and his face was inches from Remy's. "I won't tell you again."

Remy jerked free from his grasp and swore at him. He launched a kick at Marc Antoní, but the older man blocked it.

"So, you want to play that way, do you?" he said, raising his fists and smirking at the boy. His eyes seemed unnaturally dark now and they had an ominous gleam. " _En garde_ ,"

I moved away from them while they took their stance.

"You are as stubborn as Vega, Remy. I had hoped that I had broken you of it by now."

"I do not take orders from stupid old men and I do not bow to your 'master'."

"Yes, I know. Change your attitude and someday, you could be a high-ranking assassin in his army."

"Never!" yelled Remy, sweeping a high kick at Marc Antoní's face, knocking him to the ground. To my amazement, he just rubbed his head with a chuckle.

"That is the fire I admire about you, Remy. Now, shall we continue?"

Remy spat at the ground and Marc Antoní rose to his feet. Remy took his stance before me, cold blue fire gleaming in his eyes.

"Let's go now, eh, pretty boy?"

His fists began to glow with blue light once more. Not to be defeated again, I let my instinct guide me and I jumped to one side of the cage, grabbing onto it and clinging from it like it was a vine.

I felt the rush, growing even more hungry to make him talk to me. Using the chain-link to bound off from, I pushed myself off and kicked him. The force of the kick knocked him to the ground and I pinned him there, kneeling over him with my claw at his throat. I smiled at him, savoring the moment.

"What's your sister's name?" I asked.

"Go to hell!" he hissed.

I held the claw against his throat so that the edge of the claws pricked against his milky flesh.

"Now, Remy. You know the rules!" chided Marc Antoní.

Remy looked away from me, a darkness washed over his bright blue eyes.

"Émilie, her name was Émilie."

I could see a tear forming in the corner of his eye, but it did not fall. Instead, with a great cry, he grabbed my arm, flipping me over and pinning me on my back. I was stunned for only a moment.

" _Why?_ " he cried, yelling into my face and I laughed.

"What?" I smirked.

"Why do you do this?"

I sighed, rolling my eyes.

"You _know_ why. I already told you; ask me something else."

"So, spoiled rich brat still has to get his way? Why me? _Why?_ "

"Because you are beautiful; I have never met anyone else as beautiful as I am."

He was quiet suddenly, searching my eyes for something, maybe some deeper meaning, and I read his frustration in his furrowed brows and pursed his lips. I could have reached to brush his turquoise tresses from his face with a free hand, but I did not dare.

" _Beautiful!_ " he snickered after pausing a moment, almost as if he were coming out of a spell. "Nobody talks like that! _Gah!_ You disgust me." he pulled off me and I smiled to myself.

There was a measure of hope in his voice that perhaps he did not hate me as much as he professed. I certainly needed a friend at that moment, if only someone to talk to while I was there.

Remy grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to my feet roughly, the force sending me backwards against the cage.

"My mother does,"

"What?" he glared.

"She talks that way,"

"Oh, right, and I suppose she is _beautiful_ too?"

I moved from the cage and stood before him.

"As a matter of fact, yes." I replied, folding my arms. "But why do you ask? I told you she is already. Just as I know your sister was."

Again the ferocious gleam in his eye returned at the mention of her, and I knew I had stirred his passions.

"Don't talk about my sister!" he exclaimed, "You know nothing."

"I know that you love her, like I love my mother," I could see him start to speak. "But there is no shame in that." I interjected before he could say anything.

His hands were balled into glowing blue fists at his side, his breathing hard. I felt the heat radiating, the blue waves blowing softly through our hair. I stood mere inches from his face, unafraid of him. I knew the truth and so did he.

Remy shoved me, and I raised my fists, ready to go again.

" _Light of virtue_!" he cried, the balls of energy headed straight for my precious face. I raised my clawed hand and I felt the push of the energy as it hit, but this time I did not fall.

"Very good, Vega! You're learning."

My mentor stood there, arms folded, watching us square off. I was so focused on Remy that I had almost forgotten he was there.

I had almost no time to react while his legs came up, flipping back and towards my face. Blocking again, I felt almost no impact. I swept my foot under him and he fell back, stunned.

Again, I had my claw to his throat, threatening bloodshed. Remy contorted his face, grimacing.

"What now?" he hissed.

I shrugged with a victorious grin.

"Whatever you want."

"Marc Antoní Gauldera works for a crime syndicate called Shadowlaw and was trying to recruit me. I refused and now, he holds me here. He is trying to recruit you." he leered at Marc Antoní, and I glanced up at him, reading his face for some kind of answer, and he laughed heartily. I looked down at Remy with a laugh.

"I said to tell me something _true_."

"You don't think it's true? Why do you think he's so eager to train you?"

I looked at Marc Antoní again and he regarded me with a beaming smile. I shook my head.

"I've never heard of this ‛Shadowlaw'. Why would he care? I'm only trying to protect my mother."

"You'll protect her more if you leave." cried Remy, clinching his teeth.

"What?"

"Leave!" he exclaimed. "Before you can't!"

I took the claw from his throat and fell back on my heels, laughing.

"Think about it, Vega. I see it in your eyes. You trust him about as much as I do."

He was right, especially with regard to my mother, I did not trust Marc Antoní at all—he was a snake in the grass and I was determined to keep him from biting her—still, I was not about to tell him that I agreed.

"I think you've had enough for tonight, boys. We'll resume tomorrow."

"I've had enough of you, Gauldera!" he exclaimed Remy, rising suddenly and charging towards the man. He pummeled the older man to the ground, striking blows to his face. All of Remy's rage was not enough to take down Marc Antoní and Remy was no match for his strength.

Marc Antoní pushed him off, sending him backwards. He staggered and continued towards the man.

Marc Antoní punched his face in a series of quick blows. I watched him try to block the man's attack, but it was not enough. Marc Antoní kicked him in the stomach and he fell on his back, coughing and sputtering. Seeing him laying there holding his sides, Marc Antoní laid one final blow to his face. I saw Remy's beautiful face running with blood from his nose to his lips.

"I'll break you yet, Remy! If you won't bend to the Master's will, you'll bend to _mine._ "

Marc Antoní started to kick him when I threw myself in front of Remy.

"Enough!" I yelled, "He's had enough."

"Well, aren't you a clever boy?" his smirk seemed menacing, and his words dripped with poison. "Trying to save your new friend now, are we?" I shrugged off the chill it gave me with a feigned nonchalance.

"I don't have friends. He simply needed my help."

"That's enough, Vega." the sharpness of his tone almost startled me. "Don't get between me and my punishments again, or you'll suffer the same."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, Vega. It's a fact. You will learn to listen to me or there will be consequences...and in future, _I_ am the one who decides who's had enough. Remy, clean yourself up and go to bed." Marc Antoní said, casting barely a glance at the beautiful bleeding boy as he went out the door.

With Marc Antoní gone, I gently raised him up and he propped himself up against the stone wall. I found a rag and began to wipe away the blood from his face; his eyebrow, his nose, and I hesitated at his lips, colored with red. I wanted to touch him, to taste the blood that was tempting me from his lips. Leaning in, I ran my tongue across his lips. He gasped and jerked away, and I could see his anger burning in his eyes.

"What the hell are you doing?"

I grinned, savoring the taste in my mouth.

"You taste good."

"You're insane!" he exclaimed. I caught him by his wrists when he raised to hit me and I pinned his arms against the wall.

I felt the the blue glowing energy radiating through his hands, tingling through my body. It was exhilarating, and the pleasure washed through me. I could not help myself but to kiss him this time, deeper than before, sucking the blood left on his lips. I felt his muscles tense and he tried to push me back, but from his previous beating, I knew he didn't have the strength left. I broke the kiss and studied his eyes, a mix of anger and confusion gleaming in them.

"You want to die, don't you, asshole?" he growled.

"Aren't you curious about what you taste like?"

"No!" he spat, wrestling my grip and trying to wipe his lips on his sleeve. "Why would I be?"

"Everyone tastes different, you know. Women taste like sweet like honey and flowers, their blood is like...like...ambrosia! You, I can taste you. You taste slightly coppery, a sourness much like your personality, maybe a little salty too!" I grinned at him but he was not amused.

With as growl, he pushed me back.

"You really _are_ insane! I can see why Marc Antoní wants you."

"That's your opinion."

"Don't touch me again. If you do, I'll kill you." his eyes darkened and I knew he was serious. Still, I remained unphased and handed him the rag.

He wiped his face and looked away from me.

"Vega,"

"What?" I said, my defenses rising.

"Thanks. I thought he was going to break my ribs tonight!"

"You're welcome."

"You're not going to try and kiss me again, are you?"

I chuckled,

"No."

I sat down next to him, and we were quiet for a while. I stared into space and he stared at his hands.

"Vega, what I said earlier about Marc Antoní..."

"Yes?"

"It's true."


	16. Truth

_**The Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and estate.** _

* * *

I looked at Remy and he continued to stare down at his hands.

"What? What do you mean?"

"It's true. He works for an organization known as Shadowlaw. I was recruited and he tried to train me, but when I refused, he kept me here. I have been sleeping down here for months, nothing but a mat and a blanket. When he heard of your arrival, he was anxious to recruit you; he told me I could sleep in one of the rooms as long as I helped train you."

"What do they _do_ exactly?"

"Whatever a criminal empire does—sell drugs, guns, women—anything to further their organization. They are always looking for new recruits as their top fighters to join their army of assassins."

"Assassins..." I said, chewing my lip. The thought was intriguing to me, and powerful!

He looked at me with a wry smile.

"You're not really thinking of joining, are you?"

"Of course not. Why would I do that? I have no interest in any of that _boring_ criminal stuff."

There was another lull in the conversation and I could feel the awkwardness rise.

"So, I know you said that Marc Antoní kidnapped you, but how did he find you?"

Remy scoffed and shook his head.

"I was in Monaco a few months ago. I was in this street fight with a rich _Monégasque_ girl, you know, like you." he smirked at me and I rolled my eyes. "She had long blonde hair and the most haunting purple eyes, perfect porcelain skin—"

"Yeah, but did you win?" I asked, not to be outdone by his petty insinuations.

"Narrowly. She was a very athletic girl, lots of flips and cartwheels; and the way she moved in that frilly white dress... like the petals of a flower."

"Did you pluck her?" I said with a grin.

Remy looked at me with disgust.

"Why would I do that?"

I shrugged.

"Why not? You beat her, didn't you? You had to be at least a little turned on when you fought her."

"Maybe, but I don't fight to be turned on. She was as worthy as me."

"And prettier than you."

Remy sighed heavily.

"It wasn't like that. She had her butler there with her the whole time, watching."

"Well, what was her name? At least she gave you that?"

"Lili, Lili de Rochfert. I bid her goodbye and then Marc Antoní came. An older man, tall and somewhat menacing but I wasn't afraid of him. He had a big black man by his side; he was an American, he said. A boxer. He said that I should come with him to a fighting tournament called the World Warrior tournament."

"What did you say?"

Remy laughed.

"I told him to piss off. Tournaments are not my style anyway."

I shook my head.

"I'm sure Marc Antoní wasn't pleased about that."

"Oh, he wasn't but he was also persistent. He told me if I didn't fight, I'd never see my sister again."

"What? I thought you said she was dead?"

"She lies in a place only I know, frozen in time forever. How Marc Antoní found out about it, I don't know."

"Well if he knows about it, obviously it can't be too secret. Then again, Marc Antoní knows a lot about a lot of things even I don't understand."

Remy sighed again.

"The Bay of Biscay."

I raised my eyebrows. Of course I was familiar with the area; I knew its history and its importance to my country. I had no idea, however, why he'd want to bury her in the ocean.

"In the ocean?"

"No, not in the ocean! I found a secret cave in the area, off the coast. I knew she would be safe until I could return to her again. I promised her."

I nodded,

"Then you must get back to her. I think maybe I can get you out of here."

"How?"

"I haven't worked it out yet but it's me he wants, not you."

"You should leave too. There's no reason to be here. You're not his prisoner."

"No, but my mother...she's infatuated with him. My mother's taste in men is...poor. I'm not really surprised but this is the worst yet. I've tried telling her before but she won't listen. To make matters worse, I think they used to be lovers."

"If she loves you as much as you say, then she'll listen."

"I'll make sure she listens, don't worry. The minute she realizes he's been abusing me, it's over."

"Abusing you? That's not how I've seen it! You wanted him to train you."

"Yeah, I know, but _she_ doesn't know that. Besides, look what he did to you tonight."

Remy chuckled, brushing the hair from his face and throwing the bloodied rag at my face.

"You are right, _mon ami_. Maybe you're more clever than I thought...but you're still an asshole!"

I laughed at him.

"Then, I'm an asshole but I am still beautiful!"

He rolled his eyes at me with another chuckle and I grinned.

"Remy..." he leaned forward towards me, "how would you like to meet my mother?"

* * *

We sat in the parlor that afternoon, Remy, my mother, and I, sitting in red velvet lined chairs, facing each other, my mother sitting on a sofa. The sunlight streamed through the wide windows, glinting off the glass of red wine my mother held in one hand. Remy sat next to me, his head bowed as always and very quiet. Mother sat, one leg crossed over the other, sipping her wine slowly. The afternoon light streaming in behind her gave her a subtle diffuse glow, like an angel, shadows cast over her face.

She smiled warmly at us, her eyes gleaming, dangling her foot idly. Hoping to ease some of the awkwardness, I rose and greeted her.

" _Bona tarda, Mama_." I kissed her cheek.

She touched my face.

" _Bona tarda, el meu amor._ "

Remy looked at us, and his brows knitted in confusion.

"Oh, pardon us. Vega and I forget ourselves sometimes. We are Catalan and we often speak our native tongue at home."

He chewed his bottom lip and nodded. I sat down beside her, resting my arm across the back of the sofa, and crossed my legs.

"Would you like some wine, Remy? It's very good." offered Mother.

"No, thank you." he replied softly, continuing to stare down. I could see concern growing on Mother's face. She did not like people being upset, especially if they were guests. Mother then turned to me, offering me a glass of the wine.

" _Gràcies_ , _Mamà_." I cooed and she nuzzled my cheek.

"Ah, you're so shy, Remy! It's okay." she gushed, turning back to him. "I was not always the society woman you see now. I grew up in the poorest neighborhood in Barcelona and I was always shy. I was—as the saying goes—'a shrinking violet', but soon I was taken from the darkness and into the light where I blossomed."

Remy looked up at her but had no response and she chuckled. He fidgeted with the zipper ties on the sleeves of his leather jacket and I watched his gaze carefully. I knew without a doubt he was already taken by her—but it was not hard to believe, really. From the plunging neckline of her white silken blouse, showing us glimpses of her ample cleavage, to the short hemline of her black pencil skirt that showed off her shapely legs, every part of her demanded attention. Now, I of course was used to this, but for any other man who happened to meet her, I pitied them...

When I was very young, my mother used to read to me from one of my favorite stories; _The Lord of the Rings_ had been newly translated into Spanish around the time I was born, and she delighted in reading it to me—although I digress—what captured my imagination almost more than the fiery demon, _Balrog_ was the beautiful and enchanting elf _Galadriel_. I used to imagine my mother was like her; with her otherworldly and fair beauty—long flaxen, golden hair, blue eyes as blue as the sky, dressing in pure white—I would chuckle, imagining the dwarf _Gimli_ faltering to meet her gaze, lest he lose his heart. I knew now this happened to Remy.

It is true that maybe I should have felt more jealous of Remy's glances at my mother, but I knew better. The greater threat was the man she professed to have as a friend, our _gracious_ host.

She leaned forward, a streak of sunlight touching her face, and I watched Remy's eyes dart down towards her cleavage and then quickly back up again. I smirked, taking a sip of my wine, and folded my arms. I could not tell if she noticed or not.

"Remy, do you like it here? Vega says you've been staying for a while."

He shrugged,

"It's alright."

"Marc Antoní has been very kind to look after you. Oh my, look at your hair! It's quite a mess. You know, Vega should give you some tips to better care for it. I can't even see your eyes." He tucked his long blue hair behind his ears and Mother gasped.

" _Déu meu!_ Remy, what happened to your lips? And you're so pale!" Now revealed was the true extent of Marc Antoní's brutality; a large scab formed on his bottom lip. Dark circles framed his blue eyes.

She reflexively leaned forward to touch his face and he flinched.

"Oh! Forgive me. I did not mean to..." Mother receded back into the shadows.

I patted her shoulder and went to Remy's side.

"What happened?"

I looked down and dug my toe into the floor.

"Marc Antoní, Mama."

" _What_?" she rose.

Remy's eyes widened and he shifted in his chair, perhaps afraid she might touch him again.

"Marc Antoní did this. To both of us." I declared again.

A sort of empty look washed across her face. She stood there silently, wine glass in hand. I rushed over and took it from her, placing it on the end-table next to the sofa.

Mother stood there, her mouth open, as if she would speak. I saw the tears coming to her eyes and I knew the reality of the situation began to sink in. She looked up at me now, tears still in her eyes, beginning to paw at my face, no doubt looking for any sign of abuse.

"Mama," I gripped her shoulders, reading her sad eyes. "It's okay now. I'm okay."  
She exhaled a shaky breath and looked over at Remy.

"Remy, I'm sorry." she said, her tears beginning to fall. He simply nodded and looked down.

"I won't let him hurt you ever again."

* * *

The next day, we began to pack. We were leaving our gilded prison once more. We would get away from there and she would be mine again.

We went out into the parlor, our suitcases in hand. Marc Antoní met us coming down the staircase, his arms crossed.

"Ah, my honored guests! Good afternoon."

"We're leaving, Marc Antoní." said my mother. "We can't stay any longer."

"Really? Isn't it hard to go anywhere without your passports?"

"What?"

He stepped towards us and Mother grabbed my hand.

"Your luggage never arrived, you have no passports. You have nothing. Victoria, tell me, why are you _really_ here?"

"I-I...what do you mean?"

"Surely, Vega knows." and he looked at me. I met his gaze as calmly as possible and she looked back at me.

"Vacation, without Miguel? You haven't left that house in 16 years, Victoria. I'm not blind. You came with no passports, no luggage." he rubbed his mouth and then smiled but it made me feel uneasy.

"Where is Miguel? He would have never let you leave. Unless...unless he's dead?" and I shot a look at my mother. I was not actually sure who he was speaking to.

My mother's face broke and her lips quivered.

"Vega killed him. He was protecting me."

"My father was a cruel, evil man. He had no right to live for what he had done to my mother and I."

"Ah, so you haven't told him yet, Vicky?" The flippant way he regarded her began to boil my blood.

She staggered backward, squeezing my hand hard.

"Don't you _dare_ , Marc Antoní!" she snapped.

"Tell me what, Mother?"

Her face drained of its color, a ghostly pale more than normal. I could feel her hand trembling in mine; I stroked it with my thumb, trying to console her.

"You have no right! He was _my_ husband!"

"And he was _my_ best friend!" I could see his eyes flashing, both of them locked in a passionate stare.

"It is _my_ choice and you won't take that from me!" she exclaimed.  
"Tell me _what_?" I yelled, desperately trying to get an answer.

"Shh, _está bè_ , Vega. _Et prometo._ " she whispered.

"There are many cruel twists of fate in this world, Vega, and unfortunately, you've only had a taste of that. Your mother fears what would happen if you were to know more. She thinks she has a choice in whether or not you know this."  
My mother scowled at him, turning away and grabbing her luggage again.

"Vega, we've leaving. Come on."

I glanced up to see Remy in the shadows of the corridor. He began to start down the staircase but stopped.

"You're not leaving me, Victoria. Not now, not again. I _need_ you." he growled. I watched his green eyes darkening, like a brewing storm over a calm sea. My mother did not seem afraid, however. I saw her standing there, and for the first time in my life, I saw that she stood as strong as her resolve.

"I know what you did, you bastard! I'm not going to let you continue to abuse my son _or_ Remy."

"Abuse? Hardly." he scoffed, "I was only teaching Vega the ways of being a man. Remy merely assisted me."

"Like Miguel? Is that it? Is a boy's only way to learn but through bloodshed and violence? My son needs nurturing and love. _I_ can give him these things."

"You smother him, Victoria! How's a boy to grow up properly if he can't breathe?"

"She's not smothering me, Marc Antoní. She loves me and she wants what's best."  
I admit it was not my best defense at the moment, but it's what I felt. Even if she did smother me, there was still that part of me that loved it.

Mother nodded in agreement and picked up her luggage, continuing towards the door.

Before I could blink, he grabbed her arm, pressing her against his chest, his other hand around her throat. I dropped my luggage and lunged forward.

"No, Vega. Stop!" she cried. "He won't hurt me."

A chill ran down my back. I was watching the horror movie of my life unfold before me again.

"You know I would never hurt you, Victoria. I love you. Stay and be mine again. You can have everything you ever wanted, like before. I can show you pleasures you never knew. Our nights will be in ecstasy, just as before. Don't you remember those nights we spent together? You, me...and Alberto?" She squirmed in his grasp.

"Don't talk like that in front of my son!"

"Give it up, Victoria. You're not the saint he thinks you are. You should stop pretending now. He's a big boy."

I glared at him.

"No, it can never be that way again. Let me go." He ignored her pleas and nuzzled her hair.

"He will be happy, you'll see. I'll see to it he has the best of everything, just like you. No more fear, no more pain."

"No. I-I don't need anyone else. I have Vega now. He is my happiness and I live for him."

"You suffer for him, Victoria. You are not the Holy Mother and he is not the Holy Child. The blood you shed is in vain." He spun her around to face him, wrapping his arms around her, and then stroking her cheek.

"Can't you see what you've become? Being alone with him and no one else for so long. It isn't right—it isn't _natural_."

Her posture stiffened and she broke from his embrace.

"Who the hell are you to judge me? A man with _predilections_ like yours, you wouldn't know what's natural! You have no idea the _hell_ I've endured these past years."

"I came back for you! Many times I tried."

"And each time he punished Vega and I for your transgressions. I nearly _died_ the last time! Because of that, I am barren and my womb is nothing but a shell..."

I felt my stomach drop and the realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

"You!" I yelled. "You were there that night..."

Mother gave me a mournful look.

I grabbed a butter knife from the table on the veranda that was set for our afternoon meal. I grabbed my mother's wrist and pushed her away, holding the knife to his throat. I knew it would not cut him but it was not the point. He grinned at me.

"It's not sharp, Vega. What do you think you can do to me?"

"You destroyed her! You made her suffer! I won't let you get away with it."

"I did not beat her, boy. I did not rape her! That was Miguel..." he grimaced, "Your father."

I felt my mother's hand over my hand that held the knife.

"No, Vega. Marc Antoní is an immoral man," she shot him a bitter glare, "but _he_ is not responsible."

I ground my teeth, gripping the knife tighter, pressing the dull tip to his throat, willing a drop of blood to fall.

" _Está bè, el meu amor...está bè_." she whispered in my ear and gently she took the knife from my hand. I was so angry, I could feel the pulse in my head begin to throb and tears came unbid to my eyes, though they did not fall.

"There are things that you do not understand, Vega. Things that I could not tell you..."

I turned to her and she took my hands. I stared into her eyes and I could scarcely process what she was saying. She put her hands on my face and pressed her forehead to mine; I looked down.

" _T'estimo..._ "

" _Més que la meva vida._ " I finished her sentence. She smiled and replied,

" _No. Més que a mi mateix_."

I looked at her and yet with all of her affectionate reassurance, something did not feel right. Her words did not truly register in my mind.

She kissed me and I felt nothing but the warmth of her lips against mine. It was as meaningless as any other physical gesture from someone else; my heart did not lift from my chest, nor did the tears vanish from my eyes.

My mother turned back to Marc Antoní, who stood in his usual smugness.

"We'll stay...for now." my heart stayed at the bottom of my stomach. She took my hand and led me back up the stairs.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

" _T'estimo..._ " - I love you

" _Més que la meva vida._ " - More than my life

" _No. Més que a mi mateix_." - More than _myself_


	17. A Fateful Discovery

Once in her room, she began to pace. My fury had not died down and nor had my confusion.

“What are you doing? We can't stay!” I exclaimed. “Why must you always stay?”

“Vega, you don't understand.” she replied, continuing to pace. She did not even look at me. It was very unusual for her pace—it was mostly my sort of thing—but for her to pace, I could not even imagine how upset she must have been.

“So tell me.” I implored, trying to be patient. Mother sighed but said nothing. I watched her pace and continue to ignore me. My blood boiled.

“Fine!” I snapped, “I can't believe we're not leaving! You're always so selfish! He's evil, Mother, but you won't listen. You tell me you love me and you won't listen! You like it, don't you? That has to be it, because it's the only way you married father! Is that what you want? You want him to abuse you too?”

“How dare you speak to me this way! I am your mother, _por Dios_!”

“You've become his slave. You can't see what is right in front of you, Mother. You never could. You know, I never wanted to believe what Father said about you; that you're nothing but a whore who will spread her legs for anybody to get what she wants...except _me_. You don't care about what I want, what I _need_.”

“Enough!” she yelled, whirling around and facing me. Her eyes were flashing with such anger I had never seen. I wondered if she was going to smack me for my insolence, but she did not.

“We will stay until we can get some passports. It will take some time but Marc Antoní can get us some. Only then are we leaving, do you understand?” I swallowed and nodded. “And don't you ever talk to me that way again!”

I was taken aback by her abruptness but I was becoming used to her changes ever since we came. Little by little, I saw her becoming strong again. Her fear was gone and all that seemed to be left was woman living life to the fullest.

I sighed and left the room. There was no dealing with her at that moment.

“Vega, _mon ami_ , are you alright?” said Remy, stopping me at the top of the stairs.

“I'm fine...” I said, not willing to talk about it. “Look, I'm sorry we won't be leaving yet,”

“I know. It's okay. I didn't expect it work anyway.”

I smiled wryly at him and continued down the stairs.

The air hung thick with my mother's rose perfume and with tension. Neither one of us spoke to each other for the rest of the day, making quite an awkward dinner that night. Marc Antoní sat back and observed the situation with his smugness, though he did not say a word. He seemed pleased about it, though and that irritated me. Still, on my way to bed that night, I knew we would not be able to sleep being angry so I decided to apologize for my outburst earlier, not knowing that my life would change forever...

I approached her door and saw it was cracked open but I could hear my mother talking. I peeked closer to see her with Marc Antoni. I watched as her silken nightgown slid down her body to silken heap at her feet. I watched as Marc Antoni crushed her against him in a passionate kiss and suddenly, she drew away.

“Marc Antoni, I can't--”

“Victoria, _mi amor_ , what's wrong? Do you know how long I've waited for you? How I've wanted to hold you...”

“No, we can't. It's been too long.”

“That's exactly why we should! Do you know long I've waited to hold you, touch you?”

“I-I can't.”

“And why not? You're safe now.”

“I can't, not now, not anymore. I loved you once, as I loved Alberto, but...”

“You know he gave his blessing.”

“Yes, but I would be betraying--”

“Who? Who would you be betraying, Vicki? Miguel is dead. I hated him with a passion even when he was alive, and he's not even the boy's real father! He's not worth your loyalty.”

“Vega does not know that. He never has; he believes Miguel to be his father. Vega and I have a bond, a sacred bond. I could never risk destroying that.”

“Don't be stupid, woman! Your boy has nothing to do with our love.”

“He has _everything_ to do with it! If-if you and I were together, he would never forgive me.”

“Well, I'm certainly not going to be his father and besides, he doesn't need to know.”

“And I'm not asking you to be! But I'm not sure I could keep it from him. Please--”

“I don't care!” he said, kissing her deeply. I could hear her muffled pleas and he kissed her so hard, I thought he might bruise her. She pushed him off but he continued to kiss on her neck with the same passion as on her lips.

“No! My son...Vega, he-he needs me.”

“ _Ay, por el amor de Dios_ , woman! Vega is a grown boy. No boy of his age needs his mother _that_ much--” And suddenly, he burst into a chilling, wry laughter. “Yes, I see now. _You_ need him—no—you _want_ him! I've done some depraved things in my life but not _that_. I mean, I suspected it when you arrived here, but I never imagined...”

A flush crept across her face and she balled her fists. “How dare you!” she fumed, “I love him and-and if you can't accept that, then I guess you're not worthy of me!”

“And what do you think poor Alberto—God rest his soul—” he crossed himself, “What do you think he'd think of all this, hm?”

“Don't you _dare_ speak of him like that!”

“I'll do as I please, Victoria! You may have stopped me in front of your son, but I see no reason why I have to now.”

“I love Alberto, you know that!”

“What does it matter? Vega is more your husband now than he ever was.” she slapped him.

He grabbed her shoulders, pinning her to the wall, kissing her violently. He broke the kiss, their lips reddened and panting.

“Truth burns, doesn't it?” he hissed through his teeth. “Do you want him? Do you? Tell me you do, and I'll leave.”

“No! Please! Please, don't do this to me.” she sobbed. “I thought of all people, you would understand!”

“You're mine, Victoria. Mine! And I won't be outdone by any man...or boy.” I could hear him growl and he kissed her again. Mother sobbed, her whimpers muffled in his kiss. Once more, she broke away from him, catching her breath.

“No! I...can't...”

“You're thinking of him, aren't you? God you're sick, Victoria...you whore!” Marc Antoní chuckled with feigned disgust and continued to kiss on her neck.

“If Vega only knew about his beloved mother. Do you think he'd still love you if he knew you were such a whore?” he snickered. “Maybe we should call him in here...”

She gasped and slapped him, and he grabbed her hand.

“You keep slapping me! You're forgetting that the pain only turns me on _more_.”

He released her and she sank to her knees, covering her face in her hands. She sat there, a sobbing, shivering heap and she screamed at him.

“Get out!”

I had no time to react as he burst out the door. I blocked his exit down the stairs and with a grunt, he pushed me away.

“Mother!” I cried as I burst in her room. “What's going on? Who's Alberto? What do you mean that the man you married is not my father?”

She drew her nightgown against her chest and scrambled to her feet. My head pounded, my body burning. I watched the panic and shock spread across her face, her once reddened cheeks now a pale white.

“W-What? What do you mean?” she stammered, creeping across the room towards her changing screen. “Vega, why do you look at me like that? Vega?”

I could not answer, my words choked by the anger rising in my throat.

I drug the chair from the desk that was in the corner of the room to the door and laid it beneath the doorknob. No one would interfere with the truth now—not Marc Antoní, and certainly not _her_.

I grabbed her, flinging her onto the bed, and climbing over her, pinning her wrists above her head, her nightgown skewed across her body.

“Vega! Please!” she cried.

“Why didn't you tell me, Mother? Why?” I hissed, wedging my knee between her legs.

“Let me go, Vega!” she cried, thrashing around in my grasp. “You-you wouldn't understand!”

“How could you do this to me?” my normally well-kept hair fell in golden waves into my face, my braid loosening with each movement I made.  
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I asked and she looked down. “Were you?” I shrieked. I grabbed her by the wrist and threw her from the bed. She landed against the side of it with a yelp, pulling herself up on her arms.

“I was going to tell you! Someday when it was safe!”

“When it was _safe?_ You were never going to tell me, were you?” I hissed, standing in front of her. “ _Were_ you?” I roared, my voice rising out from the depths of my fury.

She covered her head and drew up into a ball.

“I could never lie to you, _never_!”

“My whole _life_ is a lie, Mother.” I growled, pacing before her huddled figure.

My voice softened for the moment, my voice almost strained to the limit. “You were the most beautiful and pure woman I have ever known—my _goddess—_ I _worshipped_ you! I trusted you more than anyone else...” She peeked out from behind her arms.

“But now I see. You've never cared about what was important to me. You manipulated me just like you have everyone else.”

“No, you don't understand!” she cried. “ Everything I have done I have done for _you_ , my love. It was beyond my control.”

“Everything? If you really loved me, you would have left the man you say isn't my father...and if you love me now, you'll tell me who my father really is.”

“I was _always_ going to tell you, Vega. Your cruelty is unnecessary.”

“You lied to me and broke my heart and _I'm_ the one being unnecessary?” I hissed.

“I had no choice! I never wanted to lie or to hurt you. I would die before I hurt you.”

I walked towards her and she ran to the other side of the bed, trying desperately to put some space between us.

“No, Vega! Please!”

I cornered her and I grabbed her by the wrist, slamming her against her vanity and the back of her head crashing against the mirror. She screamed and pieces of glass fell like silver glitter into her hair; I watched the spider web of cracks appear around her head like a halo.

“Would you die for me, Mother? Would you?”

I picked up a large shard of glass, pointing at her throat. Mother trembled and I could smell her rose scent, the fine muscles of her neck twitched, her delicate blue veins pulsing. Even as she cowered before me, I felt no satisfaction. Her mouth quivered, trying to form the words I wanted to hear, though I had no doubt she would have died for me that night—one way or another.

“You _know_ I would...” she swallowed, “I would do anything to save you from the pain you are feeling now, but hurting me won't help...” she looked into my eyes, “even if you enjoy it.”

My nostrils flared, and I released my grip on her.

“I'm _so_ tired! I'm tired of this place! I'm tired of him! I miss my food, I miss our home, I miss the bed we shared...” and turned away from her, “I wish we could go back to how it was.”

“Before or _after_ you killed your father?” she said, though my first instinct would have been to accuse her of being snide, instead her tone was plain, matter-of-fact.

“He's not my father and you know it! I'm tired of these games, I'm tired of your lies, Mother!”

The adrenaline coursed through my body, like the bitter vitriol that consumed me.

My jaw set, my fist clenched, every muscle in my body twitched with the need to hurt her, and I mustered all of my resolve to restrain myself. I swallowed hard, boring into her soul with all of my anger, all of my hatred of what she had done.

I turned away, steeling myself as much as I could to not look at her pitiful state. “I don't want to hear another word from your lying mouth.” I growled, slamming the door behind me.

I went to my own room, which still felt so strangely colder than hers. I knew the temperature was not to blame. It may have been an older house but it was kept well.

Slamming my door, I stood silently against it. I could hear her soft footfall and I knew she was there but she did not speak. I heard a soft bump and figured she must have been sitting with her back against it. I was mostly amazed she had not started a torrent of hysteric screams, begging me to open the door. The sinking heaviness I felt inside told me that something was different, much different than before. I chewed my lip in thought and I felt an urge to open the door, but I resisted once again.

For the first time in a long time, I thought about bed and sleeping in it alone. I could not bear the thought of her touch or even being near her at the moment. I felt surely that sleeping in my bed alone, as it should be for a boy my age, was a relief but was it?

“Your father...was a matador...” came her muffled voice.

My heart fell to the floor and I crouched down against the door silently. I put my hand to the door to brace myself and imagined she had done the same.

“Alberto José Luis Vega de Cerna i la Serda. I met him when I was 16 and we fell in love...”  
I could hear her voice choking and there was a haunting feeling in the air.

“He saw me that day from the stands in the bullfighting ring, and I knew we were meant to be together. We were married the next year and then...before we knew it, I was pregnant with you. Oh! He was so happy and proud to be a father and prayed everyday for a boy... I-I know that life has been cruel to us, Vega, for you and I are cursed, cursed and bound by the same fate...and I am sorry...” she was silent a moment, I knew something bad was coming. She continued, “a month before you were born, he was gored by a bull.” I could hear her soft sobbing. “He left us, and you, you were all I had, his most precious gift.”

I was in too much shock to try and speak. I did not know what to say, but her crying began to tear at me. I knew this could not be the whole story because she had to have a reason for marrying the evil man I knew as my father.

I sat there, listening to her sob. This was not the usual hysteric crying to which I was accustomed—it was softer, weaker. A chill went down my spine; Mother lied to me about all of this and now, I began to doubt myself. Truly, she must have known this day to come and, like a bull to the slaughter, she gave me the last of her truth.

Reaching up, I opened the door and she fell into my arms, the sobbing mess that she was.

Against all my instincts, all of my emotions, I held her, uncertain of what to do. I felt the softness of her nightgown pressing against me, her body heaving. It was like all of the times before—except it was not.

She sat up, wiping the tears from her face and looking at me.

“I'm sorry, I am so so sorry.” she touched my face, peering helplessly into my eyes.

“I-I know you are, Mother.” I said, taking her hands from my face.  
“I was so afraid I'd lose you...” she replied, clinging to my shirt and laying her head against my chest. “Do you...do you still love me?”

I looked down at her, still uncertain of what to say. I loved her, of course, but the ache of distrust tore at my heart. I said the only thing I could say.

“Yes, of course I love you. You're my mother.” she looked up at me tearfully, her eyes questioning me. “But I can't forgive you. I can't trust you.”

She began to sob once more, soaking my shirt. She wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head against my chest.

“I told myself that you would be angry. I knew this day would come and that perhaps you would react this way. I-I knew I should be strong...but I-but I can't bear it! What can I do to prove myself to you? What can I do?” she stammered.  
I shook my head and she wailed. _This_ was the woman I knew, this woman, my mother who broke down in tears when nothing went her way.

“I will do anything! Anything to make you trust me again!” and she reached up with her trembling fingers and kissed me; it was the most tender and loving of all kisses with such desperate passion and yet it burned my lips. She was like a dying fire fighting for her last spark and I could not bear her touch. She poisoned me with each plea, each caress.  
“Tell me the truth.”

“Please! I love you more than anything—more than anyone—with every fiber of my being. We're soul-mates, you and I. Bound by blood, by fate. Our pain has created a love deeper than anyone will ever know. We belong together—isn't that enough? Isn't it enough that I have bled and sacrificed myself for you time and time again?”

“It's not enough.” the anger and bitterness burned in my mouth. “It's never enough.”

She laid her head on my shoulder.

“Vega...” she moaned mournfully. “Everything we've been through! All of it...and it's not...enough?” I was overwhelmed by my bitterness again.

“You let us suffer. You married a monster and now I discovered that I lived a miserable life that I didn't have to have. You kept things from me that could have changed that...and now...I can't trust you, but I want to.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

 


	18. Tourniquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter includes foul language and scenes of extreme rape & violence against women. I do not support this behavior. If this offends you, I suggest you end your journey here.

_She's made of hair and bone and little teeth / Things that cannot speak / She comes on like a crippled plaything / Spine is just a string_

_I wrapped our love in all this foil / Silver-tight like spider legs / I never wanted it to ever spoil / But flies will lay their eggs_

_Take your hatred out on me_

_Make your victim my head_

_You never ever believed in me_

_I am your tourniquet_

_Prosthetic synthesis with butterfly / Sealed up with virgin stitch / If it hurts, baby, please tell me / Preserve the innocence_

_I never wanted it to end like this_

_But flies will lay their eggs_

_Take your hatred out on me_

_Make your victim my head_

_You never ever believed in me_

_I am your tourniquet_

_Take your hatred out on me_

_Make your victim my head_

_You never ever believed in me_

_I am your tourniquet_

_Take your, take your / Get up out of me / I'm not proud with me /I never ever believed in me / I am your tourniquet_

_-Marilyn Manson, Tourniquet_

* * *

 

“Remy, wake up!” I shouted in the darkness of his room.

“Fuck off!”

“We're going out!” I declared.

He moaned and put the pillow over his head. I flipped on the light and tore it away.

He sat up on his elbows, squinting in the light at me, his blue hair frazzled.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Vega?”

“I can't stay in this house anymore. Let's go.”

“Go where?”

I sighed.

“I don't know! Let's go find some girls. We'll have some fun!”

“I don't want _fun_ , idiot. I want _sleep_!”

“You can sleep anytime. I want some girls.”  
“Girls?” he balked, “Vega, I think that's the most normal thing you've wanted to do since I met you...”

Suddenly, his face lit up as he sat up.

“Right! Motherfucking bastard!” he swore. “All right, _mon ami._ Let's go.”

 

 

We approached a quaint little house nestled in an old neighborhood. It looked as old and dilapidated as the rest of the street itself, which consisted of ancient cobblestones. Painted in a light yellow which peeled, withered white shutters clung precariously to the windows.

The door was a bright red, illuminated by an old street light with concrete steps and black iron railings.

“Where are we?” I asked, unsure of why he would have ever thought to bring me to such a godforsaken place.

“An old friend. She took care of me when I lived on the streets.”

He knocked on the door and a woman answered. She was about the same age as my mother, dressed in a short dingy white satin nightgown that clung above her knees and a robe hanging unceremoniously open. She had long wavy red auburn hair and held a worn cigarette in one hand. Though I could see she was close to my mother in age, lines and wrinkles weathered her eyes, her skin a dusky sort of tan from smoking. Still, a semblance of life shown in her gray eyes, sparkling and lively beneath her worn exterior.

“Remy!” she said with a smile and beckoned us inside.

Inside it was just as quaint as the outside, filled with antiques and old lamps with beaded lampshades adorning the room. Old brocade curtains were closed giving the room a dim orange glow in a faint haze of smoke.

She sat at a small wooden table, laying out some cards. Upon closer inspection, I found they were tarot cards.

“So, what brings you here this time of night, eh?” she said with a knowing smile. Remy sat on an old red velvet sofa that I was certain had stains of a dubious nature, and I hesitated. He glared at me and so I cautiously sat next to him. He laid back with his legs crossed and an arm draped against the back of the sofa.

“My friend wants to get laid.” he said simply. I looked at him, only somewhat surprised at his boldness. She chuckled and rose from her seat to stand before us.

“Is that so?” she peered into my face. “You look...familiar.”

I smirked.

“I should. I'm the most famous matador in Spain! I am Vega de Cerna.”

“A Spaniard!” she said with a laugh.

“Catalan,” I corrected her.

“Ah, like _Antoní Gaudí_?” she replied with another knowing smile.

“Like _Borgia_.”

Remy rolled his eyes and she laughed.

“You _are_ bold.” said the woman, squeezing to sit in between us and she put her hand on my knee. “I am Yvette. So, what is it you would like? Hmm?”

I shrugged and Remy remained his usual quiet self.

“I'll do whatever you like as long as your money is good!”

I sighed and pulled out a large wad of Francs and handed it to the woman; she counted it and smiled to herself.

“Very good. Tell me, Vega, would you like your future read before we begin?” her eyes sparkled.

Remy crossed his arms and rolled his eyes again and I smirked at him.

“Why not? I am not afraid.”

“I can't believe you trust such a stupid thing!” Remy muttered.

“There's nothing to fear. And there is nothing that isn't already known...if you know where to look.” said Yvette, taking a seat at the small table.

“ _Mon Dieu..._ ” Remy muttered again.

“ _Et tu_ , Remy?” she cooed with a wink, “Why not have a turn after Vega?”

I looked over at Remy and he grimaced from beneath his blue locks.

“Shall we draw some cards?” I nodded and she laid out 3 cards face down in front of her.

“The cards will tell what was, what is, and what may be.” she replied. Carefully she flipped over a card on her left side. She studied it a moment and her face grew grave.

“You have struggled in your life with much hardship. You were well-cared for and yet, you suffered...”

I scowled, knowing exactly to what she was referring—or rather to _whom_. The vitriol rose in my throat, and I swallowed, trying to stay calm. I bit my lip and dug my nails into the edge of the table.

She drew the next card in the middle.

“You overcame your struggle to find success and prosperity. You are facing decisions that could affect the rest of your life; but your success has not been without its troubles.”

She drew the last card and once more a concerned look grew on her face.

“You are dealing with some sort of conflict with a loved one or friend. Something will happen that will take you away from your path and you may never return...” she looked up at me sadly.

“Loss, destruction. If you are not careful, you will lose all that you have gained in the pursuit of getting more.”

“What?” I cried, standing up. “What does that mean?”

She sighed.

“It means what it means. Be careful, Vega. Make your decisions carefully in your life. There are things more valuable than money and power.”

“Says the _whore!_ ” I exclaimed.

“That's right!” she cried, standing inches from my face. “I may not have a lot of money, but I have power! I am more powerful than any man because I know what moves him. I can give it to him and I can take it away.”

“Vega, shut up!” Remy cried, rising to his feet. “It's all bullshit! Don't listen to her!”

“No, _I_ have power, woman!” I exclaimed, ignoring him. “I've been with many women like you. You are all the same. Soft, weak. You are easy to break, you fall apart and shatter like glass. I've seen it too many times.”

“Vega!” Remy hissed. “Shut the fuck up!”

“I lost my virginity to a woman just like you when I was 13; my father's mistress. My father never deserved her. He beat her and raped her and kept her like a slave. I, I saved her. _Me!_ —and I gave her what she _needed_.”

“What good were you to a full grown woman at 13?” he exclaimed.

I smirked.

“She taught me everything I know and I was her best student.”

The woman shoved me towards the couch and I landed onto it, she climbed onto my lap, straddling me. Remy moved away from us.

“I've dealt with you cocky little bastards like all my life!” she spat, inches from my face. “You think because you are rich, famous you can have any girl you want, don't you? Some women have a price and it's too high for the likes of you. Remy is my friend and I would do anything for him; I am going to fuck you and then, you are going to leave.”  
Remy rose and began towards the door.

“Wait, Remy!” she cried, climbing off my lap and grabbing his arm. She kissed him tenderly on the lips and he drew away, wiping his mouth.

“Now now, you _know_ I don't kiss clients.” she replied with a smile, stroking his face. He softened and gave her another tender kiss; he paused before leaving the room.

“Be careful with Vega. He has a violent temper.” she put her hand on his shoulder.

“Don't worry about me. I can handle him.”

Remy pulled out a cigarette and went outside, leaving me alone with the woman.

I emerged about an hour later, tucking in my shirt and feeling sated. Remy rose from the stoop to face me and punched me in the mouth.

“What the fuck, Remy!” I cried. “My face!”

“If you _ever_ speak to one of my friends that way again, I'll kill you.” he said, turning away and walking ahead of me. I held my bleeding lip, somewhat stunned and then followed after him.

I shoved him.

“A whore is a whore!”

He punched towards my face and I blocked it with my arms. He swept his leg under me and I fell to the ground.

“She's not worth the money I paid!” I spat, spitting the blood at his face. He put his boot on my throat.

“She is all I have!”

“I never asked to be taken here! She's beneath me, you're beneath me! You're _all_ beneath me!” I struggled to pull his foot off again.

“And you're beneath me now, rich boy.” he growled. “I should grind your face in the ground.”

He removed his foot and I pulled myself back up, smoothing my hair. He took out another cigarette, turning away from me and lighting it.

I folded my arms in disgust and we stood there in silence while he took a drag on his cigarette.

The dim street light caught a gleam in his eye and I was intrigued.

“I had nothing when I came here, not even my sister...” he said, smoke trailing out his mouth.

“I stole from the markets to eat, and I fought in street fights to make money. She saved me.”

“What?” I chuckled. “That _whore_?”

He turned to me, his eyes blazing.

“Her name is Yvette! She is a person, just like you, just like me.”

“No, she is nothing like me. Just a pile of rotting flesh.” Remy raised his fist and I braced myself for another punch. “And one day I will purge the world of her kind! The streets will be purified in blood.”  
He lowered his arm and began to chuckle, shaking his head.

“You're insane!” he exclaimed, turning away and beginning to walk his typically quick lanky stride. “But I shouldn't be surprised. Your mother is crazy too!”

I jumped in front of him and stopped him mid-stride.

“What?” I hissed.

“She seduced me in front of you! What kind of mother does that?”

“Don't talk about her!” I hissed.

“What?” he balked with a laugh. “Did I hit a nerve, pretty boy?”

“I don't even want to _think_ of her!”

Remy's face melted into a look of surprise and his mood quickly softened into seriousness.

“Vega, what happened?”

I shook my head, unable to bear speaking.

“I heard you fighting tonight. What did you do?”

“ _Me_?” I cried, “I didn't _do_ anything! She _lied_ to me, Remy. Betrayed _me_!”

My chest tightened with anger, my eyes flashed at the mention of it.

“How could that be? The way she spoke of you, the way she looked at you...” and he looked down.

“I would give _anything_ to have someone love me like that.”

“No, no you would not, Remy. She devours me heart and soul and there are days I feel I could not even _breathe_ without her.”

“Geezes, Vega! You are so melodramatic! I never even _had_ a mother. Émilie was all I had; I took care of her myself and when she died...it destroyed me. Yvette gave me the love of a mother—or at least the nearest thing to one that I needed...”

“A mother? That is no mother I ever saw...”

“You have no room to judge, remember? _Tu mamá está loca._ ” he chuckled.

“You speak Spanish?” I exclaimed and he shrugged.

“No, only a little and I know enough to say that.”

“So, did you and she ever...” I asked, he laughed nervously and took a drag of his cigarette.

“She was my first but...why should that matter? Do you think that just because she's a prostitute that's all she thinks about?”

“I was only curious.” I said with a shrug.

For the first time since I met him, he smiled. It was not a big smile but it was enough and he threw his arm around my shoulder.

“Have a drag,” he said, pushing his cigarette to my lips.

“I do not smoke.”

“You fucked, didn't you? And from what I understand, you _were_ fucked! Have a drag. You'll feel better, _mon amí_.”

I rolled my eyes and took a puff on it; he took it away and took another drag. I watched how his perfect lips caressed it, mesmerized.

“Vega,” he said, without even looking at me. “Stop staring.”

I sighed.

“Come on, let's go back.” he said, continuing on without another word.

 

 

The house was dark and quiet when we returned. The sky was beginning to lighten from the approaching dawn.

Remy went upstairs to bed but I still felt restless. Even after all I had done that night, I was still frustrated. While my base carnal need had been sated in the most _deplorable_ of ways, I still had a lot of hunger—hunger and anger.

I went down into the dungeon to blow off some steam but I heard more noises. Looking around the room, I saw a door in the wall. I had not noticed it all the times I had been down there, but suddenly there was, like magic.  
It was shut but I could hear familiar sounds coming from it. There were moans and screams and the distinct sound slapping. I smiled at myself, anticipating a familiar scene.

I opened the door slowly, undeterred about entering. It was an immense room, big enough to be a ball room and it seemed to be decorated as such. There were black velvet upholstered chairs, leather ottomans, and elaborate floral tapestries hung from the wall. Erotic paintings of various sorts, some that looked centuries old hung throughout. The walls were a deep terracotta red with dim lamps giving it a hazy, dark feeling. It reminded me of the chamber where I practiced fighting but more opulent.

Various whips and shackles hung neatly displayed on the walls. Wooden devices that reminded me much of what I've seen of torture devices of the Inquisition were about the room. There was one that looked to be a cross, or a giant X with shackles at each end, to bind the wrist and ankle. There were stocks like those used to punish people in town-squares in the medieval times.

I followed the sound deeper into the room, and I could see Marc Antoní standing there, next to him was a naked woman whose hands and feet were tied at each end of a rectangular wooden frame. In his hand was something long and black, a whip. He was speaking to her in a low voice, something seductive no doubt. As I got closer, I could see the woman's back covered in large bloody cuts, her wavy blonde hair was pinned up. My heart raced as I approached them, almost fearing what I might find when I saw her.

“Well! Surprised to see you up at this hour, Vega. Have I disturbed you?” said Marc Antoní. I crept in front of the woman, inspecting her. I silently exhaled as I touched her face and her lips gently. and peered behind her to examine the wounds.

“No...” I asked as I continued to look at the woman.

He caught my gaze with a grin.

“This is Mercedes. She is one of the highest paid whores around and she's slept with every important man in Europe—but none of that compares to _this_! She knows the true value of pleasure and she knows it comes only with my touch.” said Marc Antoní gently stroking her face with his free hand, her eyes closing at his caress. “Carnal pleasure is fleeting, Vega. It is but one quick release, however this is eternal ecstasy. Only from pain can we know how precious pleasure is, and we learn how to savor it more.” he explained. I nodded in agreement.

He ran the handle of the whip down the front of the woman's body. I admired her form and sized her up in my mind. She was a woman of average build but ample breasts, she had green eyes that stared back at me like glass, her lips small and thin, and her nose while small also was quite prominent.

I could see tears on her face, and traces of where they had dried, though she did not seem upset or sad. The woman stared back at me blankly as she hung suspended from the frame, anticipating her master's touch. She seemed to glow even through the pain and the tears, there was an almost ethereal light coming from her face.

“Would you like a turn?” and he held out the whip. I took a hold of it, almost transfixed.

“Yes, I know how hungry you are but a man must have more than blood to satisfy those lusts. I know you long to long to punish those who have wronged you...but I'm afraid I can't give you what you _really_ want. She will have to do.”

A fiery flash flooded my body, my face burning. “Smell her hair, taste her skin. You'll see...”

Like Mephistopheles vanishing in a puff of smoke, he left the room.

I walked up behind the girl, who stood suspended and quiet, breathing in her scent. Familiar and exotic all at once. A floral scent with copper notes of the blood and the smell of her female musk intoxicated me. I admired the long deep cuts across her back and the beautiful red rivers of blood flowing through them. Tentatively, I dipped the tip of my tongue into her wound and she whimpered. I heard her restraints creak. She was like the most forbidden of ambrosia and I wanted more.

“You taste...sweet.” I whispered in her ear and then walked in front of her. I lifted her chin with my whip and stared into her eyes. “Are you afraid of me?” I read her eyes and saw the dried tears on her cheeks. Her mouth did not quiver or frown.

“You may speak.” I said after some time, realizing she was waiting for permission.

“No,” she said softly. “Master.” My heart leapt as she spoke that word.

“Well, you should be.” I grinned at her. “You're so beautiful...and you smell wonderful, like roses...you know, you remind me of my mother...” I walked behind her again, wrapping the long handle of the whip around her neck and squeezing.

“And I wish to _God_ she were _dead_!” I hissed in her ear. The girl began to gasp and thrash against her restraints. I removed the whip from her throat and her body heaved, taking in air. “But, that wouldn't do me any good...and Marc Antoní probably wouldn't want me to kill you. You would think he had the decency to give me a girl wasn't used! But then, all women are used, aren't they?” I snickered.

I took the whip into my left hand, flicking it into the air a time or two, listening to the crack reverberate in the air, echoing across the room and I laughed.

“That was fun! But, I think it's too much work for your punishment.” I saw a cat-o-nine tails laying on a table and picked it up. I ran the long leather through my hands, slapping it against my palms gently.

“Now this is much more practical. It was used in Medieval times by the most devout to flagellate themselves before God for their sins. Some still do it today; I _would_ , but my body is much too perfect for that...but you, you are begging to be put before God.” I could hear her breathing deepen, her chest heaved with each cautious breath; she said she was not afraid but I was not certain. Her hands clenched in her restraints and her body tensed, anticipating my touch. “You will pay for her sins with your body.”

I drew the flail across her body, listening to it smack and she screamed. The sharp cuts across her back ran red with blood, intersecting with the older cuts. I began flogging her again, my pace increasing with each stroke.

My heart pounded, my chest tightened, and an ache began grow inside of me as her screams grew louder. I tore off my shirt, the sweat gleaming off my finely toned body. I longed to press my body against hers, to feel her warm soft flesh against me, writhing in agony. Looming over her, I pressed my nose to the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling her warmth.

I brushed my lips down her neck, pausing a moment. Her skin pricked with goosebumps at my touch and I smiled to myself.

I felt the fine sinews of her neck moving and twitching, and the pulsing of her delicate veins beneath my lips. I bit down, my teeth sinking into her velvet skin like the flesh of a ripened peach, and she screamed, the coppery tang of her sweet blood filled my mouth like nectar. I released my grip and began to suck from the wound.

“Your skin is...so pale.” I chuckled bitterly, “My mother's is also very pale, for being a Catalan or Spaniard anyway...she always told me she had French blood too. Perhaps that's also why her hair is so golden, like yours. My father—or at least the _bastard_ I thought was—used to make her dress up like _Brigitte Bardot_ ; I'm told she was very popular the year I was born.”

I suckled from her wound again, and I let the blood run down my mouth in ecstasy. I could hear her moan.

“So sweet...I wonder...if she tastes the same too?” I breathed heavily, taking a breath between sips. “She could be a French whore, just like you...but no, _Mother_ could never imagine anything as dark as this—she was too pure—she could never have these desires.”

I reached around and grabbed her firm breasts, squeezing them, malleable and soft in my hands; she continued to moan quietly, perhaps afraid to let me hear, so I squeezed them harder. The girl yelped; her screams and moans were enough to pull me over the edge of utter bliss, and yet even as my body began to succumb to my desire, I felt a sharp pang in my heart, pulling me out of it.

“She ruins everything, you know. She told me that we were soul-mates...but I've always known that, even before I understood the word. Still, soul-mates are supposed to be _lovers_ they say, sharing their bodies with one another in eternal bliss—we're not lovers—and I don't even think we're _friends_ anymore...we are _supposed_ to be mother and son but, not even _that_ is possible—yet it never was. We were always something else, something _more_ , something... _different_.” I felt a twinge of anger radiate through me again, the bile rising in my throat. I continued to flog her, paying no mind to where I hit. The girl's screams echoed throughout the room once more, filling my ears with its pleasant sound.

“She...betrayed...me...” I hissed, the rhythmic slapping against her flesh accenting each word.

“Lied to me. Everything I knew in my life was a lie. Everything...” I hissed into her ear. “Do you know what it's like to be betrayed by the one person in life you love more than anything? No, of course not. I was born into hell and she had the power to bring us out and she did nothing! Wealth and status was more important to her than our safety— _my_ safety! No, she will not be forgiven. She deserves no mercy! Do _you_ think you deserve mercy?” I hissed into her ear and I exhaled.

I could picture my mother in my mind, like a ghost, mesmerizing me even through my pain and I snickered,

“I would watch her move, and how she dressed, the way she did her hair. She did all of these things knowing that it would please me, and...it did. Oh yes! She _wanted_ me to like these things! She was perfection, my goddess. ” I wrapped the girl's hair around my hand gently and kissed on the nape of her neck, once again breathing in her scent with a heavy sigh, and she shuddered. “We existed only for each other; she was all I knew and I was all she knew. It was all I ever thought I would need to be happy. I never wanted anyone else, never needed anyone else...until now...” and my throat tightened like my grip on the flail. I yanked her hair back and she screamed.

“No! I want more.” I growled into her ear and I watched tears silently fall down her cheeks. “It's not enough.” I let go and undid her restraints, dragging her by her hair to a bench and bending her over it. I spread her legs and stood between them; I wanted nothing more than to burrow myself deep inside of her and never come out again—and it seemed like a good plan—until something caught my eye.

To my surprise, much like the other rooms in the house, it had a vanity mirror and on it lay a smooth widen wooden brush, just like the kind with which my mother brushed her hair. I could not help but to grin as I went over and picked it up, feeling its smoothness in my hands and admiring the shining varnish. This was nothing less than poetic justice in its highest form, I believed.

I playfully smacked the back of the brush against my palm as I walked over to her. She was already sobbing, her body shaking from where she was bent over.

“So, your master likes to brush your hair does he? That's sweet of him...but I bet he likes to use the other side more.”

I raised my arm up and smacked her bottom with all the force I had and she screamed once more. I grinned and continued to enjoy the sound of the smacking brush against her cheeks and admired the lovely red welts that began to appear. The girl screamed with each smack, and the bench began to rock, her fingers curled around the edge of the it with a white-knuckle grip.

I laughed.

“My mother brushes her hair with 50 strokes each night before bed. Fifty!” I smacked her cheeks again and I felt such glee with each of her squeals. “Can you imagine? Sometimes I like to brush her hair; it's so nice the way it shines, and how soft it is...” Smack went the paddle again.

“I think you need a lot more than that! One-hundred, perhaps?”

She squealed as the paddle smacked her again.

“One-hundred and one?” I cackled as the paddle hit. I kneaded and massaged her tender cheeks in my hands and she moaned. I drew air in my between my teeth.

“That must feel good after all the punishment you've had...” I continued to knead on her.

“You need more.” I whispered, leaning forward. Her body tensed and I laughed. I could smell her musk and feminine perspiration and suddenly my hunger became ravenous, calling my attention to the more _obvious_ carnal desire. After all of that relentless teasing, I had had enough.

My hand dipped below, resting between her legs. I slipped a finger inside of her and she groaned.

“I want you...” I whispered in her ear. My arousal became too painful to bear for much longer. I wrapped my hand around her throat. The girl protested and I squeezed hard enough to silence her for a moment. I undid my belt and pants, pushing them down.

“N-no, Master.” she stammered so quietly I could barely hear her.

“What? How dare you tell me no!”

“Sex is...forbidden.”

“ _Forbidden?_ Then what the _hell_ did he buy you for?” I spat. I grabbed her throat and squeezed again; she began to panic and so I squeezed harder.

“Who are you to deny me, _whore_?” I released my grip and she caught her breath.

Keeping my hand around her throat, I entered her and she cried out.

I closed my eyes and moaned, sinking into her warmth. I pressed my nose into the nape of her neck, breathing into her with each thrust.

“It's too late to turn back.” I hissed in her ear with rasping breaths. “I _need_ you.” She cried out with each thrust and I felt the urge to squeeze on her throat but the sound of her cries sounded far too beautiful to suppress.

I became lost in my own orgasm when suddenly, she screamed out something that brought me nearly out of it. Closing my eyes and gritting my teeth, I continued on, resolved to finish.

Removing my hand from her throat, I moved it to the back of her neck and shoved her down farther against the bench, crushing her pretty face and her body against it, desperate for my release.

I pressed my mouth against her shoulder and bit down, the tang of the blood filling my mouth as I came, and I slumped against her, panting but sated. Giddiness overtook me and I laughed.

The girl screamed out again the same strange word, taking me out of my reverie, and Marc Antoní ran into the room.

“Vega! What have you done to her?” he exclaimed.

I drew away from her, pulling up my pants and staggering to my feet.

With a smirk, I fastened my belt, apathetic towards his ire.

“Nothing...only what you let me do to her.”

“ _That_ was _not_ my intent!” he roared.

He ran up to the girl, pulling her up to her feet, and she collapsed in his arms, shaking.

“Mercedes, _Dios mío!_ Mercedes...” he cooed, nuzzling his face against hers and she wailed, her arms wrapped tight around him. He stroked her hair from her face and stroked her cheeks. His eyes glowed with a warmth I had never seen. I wondered if this was the way he looked at my mother or if I all I would ever see was the same hunger in my eyes.

“Forgive me, Mercedes. Please forgive me! I should have never left you. I should have taught him how to _use_ you _properly_...” The girl continued to sob loudly and he held her tight.

Picking up my shirt, I snickered and began to leave.

“Clean up your whore.”

“Vega, we're not done here.” his tone was low and threatening.

“ _I_ am.”

TO BE CONTINUED... 


	19. Round One: Fight!

 “Vega, I think you're ready.” he announced.

It had been a week since my fight with my mother and the tension did not resolve itself. I stayed in a separate wing of the house, as far from her as I could get. Marc Antoni found considerable advantage in this, as it was a lot easier to sneak down stairs to train every night. This night was no different as I stood before him.

“Ready for what?”

“To fight in the tournament. You didn't think I was training you for no reason, did you? Ah, yes, that's right...to save your poor mother?” he snickered.

“ _Don't_  talk about her!” I snapped.

He sighed with a smirk.

“Your  _petty_  little feud has gone far enough. I thought by now you two would be on your honeymoon!” I growled; I hated his insinuations, no matter how true they might actually be...

“It's  _not_  petty! She destroyed me. I won't go back to her so easily.”

“You desperately want to punish her, I know. The greatest punishment would be the thing she hates most...”

I read his eyes and the permanent smirk that curved across his lips.

“No! No, I won't tell her that I'm fighting.”

“I can still see it in your eyes—the lust, the anger. You want to destroy her so do it. It's your right.”

“Never.” I hissed. “She has taken away everything; I won't let her take away this too. It is my sanctuary, my refuge. I won't have anything left if she sees it.”

He folded his arms and paced around me.

“All right, fine. Regardless, you're ready to fight, I think. In a few weeks is the  _World Warrior's Tournament._  Fighters from around the world will be there, and the winner will earn a place in the  _Shadowlaw_  syndicate.”

“I have no desire to join your stupid syndicate!”

“It is not _my_  syndicate. I am only a servant to Master Bison, its overlord. It was my duty to see that we have more recruits for his army and you would make a fine assassin.”

“I do not really care! Or have you forgotten? Spain was already conquered by  _one_  overlord and hasn't even been dead that long...I don't  _want_ another.”

He rolled his eyes.

“ _You_  may not, but it is the perfect chance to show off your skills and to vent your blood-lust on someone other than me.”  
It was my turn to roll my eyes and fold my arms.  
“Vega, I know. You feel angry, betrayed...she hurt you. You feel vulnerable...and you don't ever want to feel that way again. Time to stand up, be a man.”

In truth, I just wanted to bash his face in for even speaking, but now that he mentioned  _her._.. So, I glared at him, echoes of my father's words in my head as Marc Antoní spoke.  
“I hit a nerve, didn't I boy? You don't like being told what to do. I understand. I can help you;  _I_  will take care of you now.”

There was a lot of truth that shone back at me in his ominous eyes. I felt a chill down my spine, realizing more than ever he was right.

“If you want blood, then take it. I won't stop you. If you want sex, take it. Everything is yours now. You won't be told what to do ever again. Listen to what I say, and the world is yours.”

My heart was overwhelmed; the bitterness and anger welling up in my mouth again. I wanted to make her suffer for this great betrayal, make her feel every inch of the pain I had. I could see my hand squeezing her delicate throat, the light dying in her eyes—and yet, it was not enough. My hunger was great and I needed more.

I drew close to his face, the feeling of his hot breath against me.

“I want it.”

He grinned and clapped his hands together in finality, stepping back from me.

“ _Vale!_ But first, we must do something about that handsome face of yours...”

Sitting on his stool was a mask and he picked it up. The mask was made of some form of silver metal, concave face shape with only holes for the eyes and leather straps in the back to hold it on. He handed it to me.

“No doubt you remember how the ancient Roman gladiators often used masks in battle to protect themselves. You are no different. Can you feel your ancestor's blood in you? Like Emperor Trajan himself!”

I scoffed at him. “ _I_ prefer to think of  _Tomás de Torquemada_.”

“The chief torturer of the Inquisition? Your cleverness never fails to amaze me!”

“He made many sinners suffer for my country. He knew every weakness of the human heart, every last excruciating detail to cause the most suffering. To think of all those people suffering by his hand is... _exciting_.”

“I'm familiar with him, as I too, am a Spaniard.” he chuckled, “Indeed! It is exciting, isn't it? To hear such cries of agony and pain.”

I could imagine my own mother now, suffering on some medieval rack, her body writhing in such exquisite agony.

“Vega,” he said with a smile and I startled. “You must really enjoy those thoughts!” I swallowed.

“It's alright. I won't judge you.” his eyes narrowed and suddenly his tone grew somber.

“If your treatment of my girl the other night was any indication of your true self...”

I folded my arms, undeterred.

“And why does that matter?”

“It matters because she is  _mine_.” he said sharply. “Something I _know_  you understand.”

I glared at him.

“You  _gave_  her to me!”

He stepped forward, his face close enough that I felt the spit as he talked.

“I did no such thing! Do you have any idea what you've done?” he spat. “Do you know what that word was she yelled before I came in?” I wiped my face with a scowl.

“ _That_ , Vega, is called a  _'safe-word'_  and it is used in such practices, no matter the violence. Never in all my years have I had to use it...until now. It was your cue to stop.”

“What fun is that?” I snickered. “She's a whore. Nothing else.”

Suddenly, he grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall. My eyes widened despite myself and I began to choke.

“If you ever do that again, I will make you regret the day you were born!” and at that, he released his grasp, his demeanor suddenly cool again and I caught my breath again.

“Although...I suppose I have only myself to blame for this, hm? After all, I didn't teach you the rules, now did I? But I know what you want and it's already apparent to me that the other night wasn't enough.”

I laughed.

“Fine. Then get me more! If you know what I want so much. You said you would.”

“Oh but it doesn't work that way, Vega.”

“It doesn't?” I said, bemused.

“You aren't capable of even having what you want right now!”

“What?” I exclaimed.

“What you need right now more than anything is to fight. Fight through your anger, your pain, your lust. You crave flesh but I will give you blood. One lust for another. Then and only then can you have any...flesh.”

“All right, old man. What must I do?”

“You remember the tournament I told you about?”  
“The World Warrior's?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to fight in that?”

“Not yet. You're not good enough.”

“How can you say that after how well I've done so far?”

“You're fine against Remy and you're even getting as good as me but you're not ready. The men in the World Warrior's Tournament are the world's best fighters. They've honed their skills over many years—verses your many months.”

I scoffed.

“So what?”

“ _So_ , there's another tournament coming up in a week. You'll fight in that first. Get a taste for it.”

I smirked at him.

“ _Vale_ , Señor Gauldera.”

I arrived at the tournament. It was in a large warehouse, or what was once a warehouse. A faint smell of hops and wooden barrels lining the place hinted that must have been a brewery.

I wore a loose while silk shirt, gathered at the cuffs with ruffles lining the cuffs and the collar, black knee-length trousers with white stockings, brown leather loafers, and for some extra flair, I wore a red sash at my waist. I kept my hair coiffed in my usual loose braid that ran down my back. I carried my mask in my hand and my claw in a velvet lined case in the other.

I looked at Marc Antoní at my side who beamed with pride, surveying the scene. People of every size and nationality were there; I was drawn to a ring in the center of the room. I walked towards it to see a familiar face. Sagat, the Muy Thai fighter, fought against a man at least half his size; he looked East Asian, perhaps Chinese. The Asian man was shirtless and wore black loose-fitting pants and loafers. Sagat wore boxer shorts and his bare hands and feet were wrapped in tape. His large muscular chest had a gash across it that I had not noticed before.

His smaller opponent whooped and screamed, flying into the air in a flurry of kicks. Sagat flew back, only momentarily dazed. The opponent stood, fist clenched, legs spread apart, ready for another strike. I could see his body shaking but it was not from fear. His energy pulsed through him, his body glistening with sweat. I swore I could almost see his body surrounded by flame.

With another high-pitched whooping scream, he flew towards Sagat, his body like a tornado of flames, and Sagat barreled towards him.

“Tiger knee!” Sagat exclaimed. The fire obscured my vision and I was not sure who won the clash. I watched as the smaller figure flew back, and Sagat landed squarely on his feet. No longer bathed in fire, the Asian man lay on the ground before him, knocked unconscious.

The referee came out and grabbed Sagat's wrist, lifting his arm high.

“The winner: Sagat! Sagat has won 2 rounds this fight. Fei-long is up for elimination in the losers bracket.” I cheered for Sagat and as I beheld Fei-long being drug out of the arena, it occurred to me that he too looked for familiar.

“ _Bruce Lee?_ ” I wondered aloud to myself with a laugh.

Sagat exited the ring and we walked up to him. I stood tall and rigid, unafraid. He wiped the sweat from his body with a towel and then smiled.

“Gauldera,” he said gruffly with a nod then he looked straight at me. “Are you ready to be broken, little fighter?”

“I'm  _hardly_  little.”

He scoffed.

“That matters not to me. To me, you are all small!” and he laughed a big roaring laugh.

I glared at him and Marc Antoní stepped in.

“Is Master Bison here?”

Sagat's expression sobered and he folded his arms.

“No, I am here, regrettably, with Balrog. We are scouting for new recruits.”

“Bison still has you running his errands with that lughead?”

The taller man shrugged.

“He isn't intelligent but Bison likes his ruthlessness.”

“Ah, Bison is quite ruthless himself! It's not surprising. Vega,” he turned sharply towards me. “Are you ready to fight?”

I smirked and put on my mask and claw.

“Always,”

He led me to the cage and spoke to the MC.

I entered, awaiting my announcement.

“From Spain, our newest challenger, the Scarlet Terror.” I held my clawed hand up and bowed. The audience gave a rather muffled cheer.

“And from France, our native son...Remy.”

My eyes widened. I could see Remy smirking at me as he entered the cage, raising his arms.

“'Allo, you crazy Spanish asshole! I promise not to hurt you...too much.”

“R-Remy...” I swallowed. I took a breath and composed myself.

“And I shall try not to maim you—too much! You are too beautiful to kill!”

Remy scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah... _en Garde_ , you bastard!” he spat and I scanned him momentarily, sizing him up; this time he held a new distraction wearing his leather jacket open, baring his finely muscled chest. I swallowed and turned my attention back to his stance, carefully watching his body language, looking for my opening.

In the dark seclusion of my mask, I saw nothing but the small beam of light poking through from its eye-holes. I felt my breath hot and moist against my skin, its concave shape creating a barrier of white noise with each exhale, roaring like an ocean in my ears. My blood pulsed through my body, coursing through me like my adrenaline.

I saw nothing but my opponent, and he stood there, calmly as ever, folding one arm across his body and the other on his chin in thought. The light glistened on his sweaty body and I glared at him, licking my lips. Remy looked bored peaking out at me from behind those blue tresses of his.

I wasted no time in attacking, leaping through the air at him, laying a kick to his chest and knocking him back. He would find no mercy from me tonight, no quarter for I would take my final victory over him and hopefully, his blood.

Remy regained his stance, moving towards me and he punched me in the stomach. I felt the pain and my breath momentarily caught in my lungs but it exhilarated me. I laughed, lunging forward with my claw and swiping towards his throat. He easily evaded me, dodging and blocking. Remy reached forward, hitting my jaw from beneath with the palm of his slender hand, and I flew back.

I was not about to let it stop me and I decided to try using my position to my advantage; I rolled forward, barreling towards him in a series of forward rolls, my claw eagerly outstretched and waiting to taste his flesh. As I expected, the move caught him off guard just enough to lay a few swipes. I saw the deep gashes across his chest, and the gouging claw marks across his beloved leather jacket.

I saw his body become rigid with anger now, his fists glowing blue. I smiled with satisfaction, knowing that soon I could taste his blood on my blades and I knew I would have much more to savor.

“Fuck you, asshole! That's my favorite jacket!” he growled.

“I'd enjoy that!”

“Freak!” Remy hissed.

“You want me, admit it!”

“Your ass, passed out on the ground is all I want!”

“Never! I'm too good for you.”

“Motherfucker!”

“Mm...yes! She'd enjoy it!” I grinned from behind my mask. I watched his face contorting in absolute furious disgust. The angrier he was, the more he would fight me, this I knew. I was far too clever to fall for his attempts to bait me using my mother—and besides, my rage at her was far too deep to take it all out on him—he would have to do better than that.

He growled, barreling forward at me again. I blocked a high kick, and he swung his fists. I back-flipped out of range, running at the cage and bounding off of it, kicking him in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

“You're going to have to do better, Remy!” I said, leering over him.

Remy rose and before I knew what was happening, he back-flipped in the air, knocking me back. I staggered to my feet with a laugh.

“Like that, pretty boy? Come at me!” and he motioned me and his silver rings caught the light. I was thankful I wore my mask.

“You are so beautiful when you bleed! Let me make you even more beautiful!”

“Freak!” he hissed. “I'm putting you down like the mad dog you are!”

The sweat poured out of my body, soaking my silk shirt like a rag. I tore it off and threw it to the ground, the once stuffy air feeling at once refreshing against my skin. Remy smirked and holding his stance, motioned me again.

I swiped towards him again, he blocked my punches and tried to throw his own. Blow for blow, we blocked each other, a never-ending battle of wits and limbs until finally, my claw caught on the edge of his face, cutting him across the cheek to the edge of his lip. The blood pour from the cut, and I was so close I could feel his breath and the sweat of his body and the faint smell of the blood. I wanted to rip off my mask right then and there and kiss him hard, taking the blood into my mouth but I did not dare.

He was incensed and kicked my shins. I nearly buckled again but I resisted. Remy began to kick wildly at me, flying through the air, his foot aimed again at my head. I blocked, jumping up and hitting him in the jaw. It did not deter him, however.

Each hit I took only made me want him more, but I did not falter. I was determined to defeat him.

I ran to the cage and began to climb it.

“Coward!” he called.

I chuckled.

“Remy, can't you climb?” I teased. “Come and get me!” I whooped and hollered and the crowd cheered. I felt their energy surging through me, as addicting as the taste of blood and thrill of the fight. It had been a long time since I felt it; when I fought bulls, I enjoyed the screams of the crowd, cheering me to victory and I knew this would be better than killing any bull.

“I shall be your fallen angel, Remy. God have mercy on your soul..”

I saw his eyes widen as I fell from the cage, my arms outstretched, ready to take him down. It was enough to catch him off guard as I tackled him to the ground, my claw pinned against his beautiful throat. My body heaved against him, catching my breath and grinning wide beneath my mask.

“I still want you, Remy.” I said, watching his face grow fearful and still angry. I saw the sinew of his neck twitching beneath my claw and I swore I could feel his heart pounding beneath mine. “Dead or alive, I want you and I  _will_  have you...” I punched him, knocking him cold. I admired the deep bloody gash I created on his cheek and carefully pushed back his blue hair.

“ _Adios_...your time spent with beauty is over.” I whispered.

I stood and raised my clawed fist in victory over him. The crowd cheered and I back flipped with another cry and I laughed. The energy flowed through me, a giddiness overtaking me. I heard the announcer announcing my victory and in the shadows I saw Marc Antoní standing there, his arms folded, calmly watching me with his ever-present smirk. The loud creaking of the gate interrupted my revelry and I exited the ring, watching people pull Remy out. I hoped they would tend to his wounds. I knew he would probably never forgive me but nor did I care. I would be just as happy if he swore at me and punched me in the face. Drastic, I know, but in the folly of youth, I was in bliss. If he wished for punishment in blood, I would take it from him.  
  
TO BE CONTINUED...


	20. The Game

  
The following week came the next tourney on my journey to the World Warrior's Tournament. Marc Antoní declined to tell me exactly where it was, though we arrived to the location by his lear jet.

The building did not appear to be much different from the last; another underground location fortified by brick and mortar. It was held up by a series of columns and small alcoves along the walls. I thought I saw some signs written in faded Spanish, still I was not sure exactly where we were. I had no idea why the need for subterfuge but, I had learned to stop questioning my mentor. Surely he had a reason for hiding the location—perhaps for my own safety.

I left the cage, blood dripping from my claw and the sweat glistening on my body. My heart pounded and my breath was heavy, coming off the adrenaline. The crowd seemed a distant blur until I took off my mask. My vision was only partially obscured when I wore it, but then I was in my own world. Nothing mattered but the fight.

I noticed a woman in a black veil, standing next to Marc Antoní. I knew without a doubt my mother stood there, dressed a short little black dress, hugging her body in a way that no one should have had to see, and her high heels; but true to her dramatic nature, what drew my attention was the fact she wore her  _mantilla_ —the black lace veil worn over a comb typically worn in formal events such as Mass—or bullfights.

My anger boiled; I grabbed her by the throat, pushing her against Marc Antoní, who then was knocked into other brawlers. They grunted angrily at him and he pushed us away, diffusing the situation behind us and I slammed her into a brick column. She grabbed at my hand, trying to pull it away. I squeezed and listened to her gasp for a moment, watching her face contort from behind the veil. After a moment, I let go. I had no desire to kill her...yet.

“What do you think you're doing here?” I hissed, ripping off her veil.

She caught her breath and rubbed her throat.

“I came to see you!”

My chest tightened, and a burning fire swept through my body. I saw something her in eyes I had never seen before—they were dark and smoldering.

She took my bloodstained hands in hers, kissing my fingers. Kissing them tenderly, as if I were God Himself. I shivered each time her warm lips touched my hands, my breathing quickening, and the blood rose from beneath my cheekbones. I wanted to draw away but something inside me kept me from moving. I stood there, transfixed, watching her kiss them from knuckle to tip, worshiping them.

A slight breeze cooled my glistening skin, bringing me back to reality and I pushed her away.

“My sweet bloodthirsty Prince, don't you know how proud I am?”

“Proud? Proud!” I shrieked, running my hand through my hair. “You went catatonic after I killed the man you called my father, you forbade me from fighting—even if it was for your _life_ —and now, you're  _proud_?”

“B-but Miguel was different! That was self-defense! I was in shock! What was I to do?”

“What do you  _want?_ ” I hissed.

“Want?” her blue eyes gleamed back at me and she cocked her head for a moment. “I want  _you_!”

I snickered and began to pace.

“ _What?_ ”

“We haven't spoken in  _weeks_!” she cried, “It was the only way!”

I spun around and faced her, my face inches from hers.

“That's the  _point!_  I can't breathe around you! I can't-I can't....” I turned away from her, my anger began to rise in my throat and I growled in frustration.

“But...I  _need_  you.” she said softly, putting her hand to my shoulder. Her touch incensed me and I shoved her away.

“Is everything always about  _you_? You are so selfish!” I roared.

“Vega...” she cried.

“You come here, dressed like-like a _whore_ , tell me that you are  _proud_  of me, and you think that makes everything you've done  _okay_?”

Her eyes filled with tears but I was relentless.

“You've done nothing but humiliate me my whole  _life_! And tonight...tonight, was going to be my triumph and you've taken that from me. You've treated me as your precious boy but you wanted a man. If I cannot be your boy then you will treat me like a man! That's what you want, isn't it?  _Isn't_  it?”

Her mouth quivered, trying to speak. I could see how desperate she was to touch me, to find some way of easing the pain I had inflicted on her. I snickered, watching her cowering before me.

“I never meant to hurt you--”

“You crazy lying bitch!” I cried and she slapped my face. The pain energized me but she only made me more angry.

“Nothing out of your mouth is true! Nothing! You vicious lying whore!”

“I-I never lied to you, Vega! Never! I may not have told you everything but I have not lied!” she screamed, the tears streaming down her face. “How dare you speak to me this way. I am your mother!”

“For how long?”

This enraged her and she started to slap me again, but I caught her hand, crushing it in my grasp. I smirked at her pain and fear.

“You will not slap me again,  _woman,_  or I will make you regret the day you had me.”

“Tonight I do!”

I glared at her and released her; she began to beat against my chest.

“Oh I hate you! I hate you!” she screamed at the top of her lungs in a horrifying angry screech. I knew that she did not mean it—she did not have the capacity to hate me—this I knew for a fact, and for as much as she disgusted me at that moment, I found her tantrum kind of amusing. Still, this did not keep me from continuing my tirade against her.

“You were never really a mother! You only pretended. You didn't want me, you wanted a lover! No—you wanted  _me_  for a lover!”

She screamed again and I shoved her away. She staggered back, falling on her bottom. I watched her struggle to her feet and dust herself off.

“I  _know_. Don't you think I know? I'm your mother!” she growled. “You can't look at me like that and deny it!”

I rolled my eyes at her.

“Like  _what?_  What are you talking about, you crazy woman?” I cried.

“I see the way you look at me! The way you-you gawk at my body when you think I am not looking!”

“Oh God...” I muttered under my breath and rolled my eyes again. “ _I_  don't deny anything,  _Mother_. At least  _I_  have told the truth.”

She growled again, another fierce angry screech that sent chills down my spine. I was tiring of her histrionics and my blood began to boil. I turned away before I seriously hurt her, and began to walk towards the cage.

“Don't you walk away from me!” she screamed.

I saw her storming after me and I began to climb the cage, the crowd cheering.

To my surprise, I saw her, high heels and all, begin to climb the cage.

“Don't you dare look at me like that and deny it!” she screamed. “Don't you dare!”

With one swipe I could have dispatched her then and there, but it would have been too easy.

“Don't you dare deny me!” she cried again, screaming at the top of her lungs. I was certain everyone in the whole building could hear her. “Don't you dare, Vega de Cerna!”

“I want to fight and I want to fuck—and you can't give me that!” I yelled down at her. Her face was as red as her lips, an expression beyond anger.

The crowd cheered at me and began to surround the cage. She clung to the chain-link now, fearing for her life and I laughed.

“Shall I bring you a heart, Mother? That  _is_  what you want, isn't it?”

The crowd swelled and she looked down at them and back up at me.

“N-no-no...I-I already h-have yours--”

“Do you know how many men I'll have to kill just to purify you?”

I could see such horror in her blue eyes gleaming back at me.

“I know you want it. I see it in your eyes.” I snickered. “I'll let you bathe in their blood when I'm done. I'll even let you  _taste_  it.” Her face whitened and then turned a little green.

I saw Marc Antoní plowing his way through the gathered crowd, punching and kicking his way through until he had a path to the cage. I watched him pull her down and she screamed, kicking at him.

I climbed down, entering the cage.

A burly man entered after me. I donned my mask, fastened my claw, and took position.

“Fight!” the announced announced behind us.

I would make quick work of this brute, and show my mother the man I had become. I knew men who were larger were slower. This would put my speed and agility at my advantage.

With a growl, the large man barreled towards me and I dodged him.

I slashed his back and he screamed. I jumped and knocked him back, making several quick kicks at him, preventing a full recovery. I slid my leg out and he fell to the ground; I pummeled him, straddling him and punching and slashing his face. I slashed his throat and the warm blood sprayed my face and splattered against my body. I heard him gurgle and soon, he lay still beneath me. I caught my breath and drew my claw down his chest, cutting a large gash across his chest. I made good on my promise, reaching in to grab the throbbing organ and I severed it. I stood and lifted it into the air, the blood running down my arm.

Covered in blood, my body filled with adrenaline and still holding the burly man's heart, I walked over to the side of the cage. Marc Antoní restrained my mother in his arms and she screamed.

“Come, accept your prize!” I said, grinning at her from beneath my mask.

I could see her visibly shaken and trembling, her knees nearly knocking together in terror.

I reached through the fence and stroked her face, smearing blood down her cheek.

She broke free of his grasp, bolting out the door. I laughed and the crowd screamed and cheered at my brutality. I threw the heart down like a piece of meat and lifted my bloody claw into the air.

However, I was not about to let her get away that easily. I followed her out the door soon after.

The door led out into an alleyway and I stopped. I smelled the air and I could see the city lights all around.

“What do we have here? Such a pretty lady to be crying like that!” said a voice, bringing me back to reality. I saw two men emerging out of the darkness of the night.

“Please don't hurt me!” I heard the shrill voice of my mother.

“We haven't done anything...yet.” and they let out a snicker.

“Perhaps she has some money on her?” said the other man.

A flash of light came as one took out a knife and I could see them hold it to her throat.

I could not allow them to hurt her, no matter how angry I was at her, so I picked up my claw and stood tall.

“Ooh! Pretty boy has a knife?” one snickered.

“Not a knife...” I growled.

I bounded off the wall of the building, knocking both men down and slashing them in quick succession.

I found my mother nearby, crouched down on the ground and sobbing.

She saw me and yelled, shielding herself. I knew I was a bloody mess and wearing my mask, with my claw still dripping with blood, it did nothing to ease her fear. Removing my mask, I then unfastened my claw and laid it on the ground.

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it.” I said after a few moments.

She did not move, still sobbing and I sighed.

“Did you really think I'd let you run out on me...again?” and still, she continued to cry.

I smirked, beholding the spectacle before me, quickly surveying the bloody mess of the men on the ground. I could feel my breathing normalize, the adrenaline still surging inside me. The ecstasy of the moment would not be quenched by her helpless sobbing.

I grabbed her hand and tried to pull her to her feet but instead, she pulled me down by her side, throwing her arms around my neck. I said nothing, feeling her nuzzle against me, the slight floral smell drifting up. I swept her into my arms and carried her back inside, finding my way back to Marc Antoní who had started towards the door as I came in.

I assured him that we were fine and that the blood was not mine...or hers. What was to be my ultimate triumph dissolved into chaos; there were brawls all around the room, the mob mentality in full force!  
“What did you do?” my mentor growled in my ear.

“I told you! It wasn't our blood!”

Brushing passed us, he poked his head out the door and beheld the bloody sight of the men on the ground in the alley. Marc Antoní crossed himself with another low growl, something I had rarely seen him do. Turning back to me, I could see his green eyes flashing.

“We need to go— _now_.” he hissed.

Marc Antoní quickly spirited us away. He told us very little about where we were headed that night, only that he was taking us to a safe-house on the outskirts of  _Sevilla_ , somewhere quiet and secluded. After everything we had been through, some peace and quiet seemed nice, even if we were still far from our stately mansion in Barcelona and the warmth of the night lifted my spirits for the moment.  
  
  
  


* * *

 

We sat next to each other in the car that night, neither of us saying a word. Despite our recent brush with danger, the air was still thick with tension. Marc Antoní, no doubt also sensing the tension, decided that he should sit up front with the driver.

Mother chewed on her lip and fidgeted with the hem of her obscenely short dress, trying in vain to pull it down. I folded my arms and rolled my eyes; she did not look at me, just continued to stare forward. My anger had cooled some and now I was left with her remaining hysterics; it is a difficult thing to realize when you are young how exhausted you can be, or how exhausted others can make you.

“Will you  _stop!_ ” I exclaimed after several minutes of watching her.

She muttered something intelligible and continued to fuss with her dress.

“It won't go any longer!” I snapped back.

She crossed her legs and folded her arms, her dress doing nothing to hide her body. Had I a coat, I would have draped it over her. Instead, I took my shirt off and laid it over her.

“Are you ashamed of me?” she pouted.

“Ashamed of you, no. Embarrassed! Mortified! Humiliated!” I cried.

“What is it about my body that bothers you?” she asked, still refusing to look at me. I could see her eyes still gleaming with un-shed angry tears.

“Nothing—” she looked sharply at me, her gleaming eyes piercing my soul and I could feel the heat in my body rise; I struggled to put my frustration to words. “It's just that, you are my mother...you shouldn't look like that...” I gestured at her, my heart pounded and I could feel the blood rising to my face as I observed her shapely body barely obscured beneath my shirt.

“ _Am_  I?” she snapped.

I took a breath and rubbed my brows hearing my own words being thrown back at me from our previous argument.

“You gave me life, so...I  _suppose_  that you are.” I retorted and she looked at me.

“Is that  _all_  I am? What would you want me to look like? Shall I become a nun?”

I looked down. I did not know what to say. Of course I did not want that, but how do I explain that to the woman who I cared for more than anything that she has mortified me more in one single night than the entirety of my sixteen years of life?

“I-I know you hate me,” she said, choking back tears. “But you don't know everything--”

I sighed heavily; leaning forward, I put my hands on her face, pressing her lips against mine. Her lips were soft, warm, and burning against me. She shifted in her seat and I crushed her against me, feeling as though I might break her. Yet, I felt her holding me as tightly as I held her; she pressed harder against me, giving me back the kiss I had stolen from her when I was younger and so innocently infatuated with her. She kissed me with a passion I had not yet known, devouring me heart and soul, taking my breath with hers. I was beyond hate, beyond mortification now—well, embarrassment would be more aptly put but I knew there was no earthly way I could ever explain to her everything in my heart and in my head.

After what felt like forever, I broke the kiss, catching my breath and I pressed my forehead to hers.

“I do not hate you.” I said, “I tried to hate you, I  _wanted_ to hate you, and maybe I  _did_ —for a while—but, as angry as I was, somehow, I could not hate you. Hating you would be like...like hating myself. I-I love you.”

She began to cry but for the first time in a while—at least since our fight, she smiled and happily kissed me again.

“I love you too.”

We sat there quietly, but now at least the tension was gone. I looked over at her and she had a sort of peaceful look on her face. Now that I had a moment to really process everything that had happened, I felt anxiety tearing at my heart.

“Tonight...I realized that even though I was angry with you, I could lose you forever.” I said, suddenly feeling quite vulnerable despite myself. “We've...we've never even been apart, have we?”

“Never—except these last few weeks.” I saw the sadness wash back over her face a moment as she spoke and then she suddenly brightened again. “Oh my precious Vega! My angel, you will  _never_  lose me, ever. I will be all around you! The warm Barcelona sun on your skin, the red roses that grow in our garden, a breeze in your hair—maybe even the gleam in the eye of the girl you love...”

I chuckled.

“I will never love anyone else.”

“Someday...” she sighed.

“No, I mean it! Never!” I exclaimed. My voice rose, my chest tightened and my passion overtook me. “You're mine!”

Mother looked at me, her eyes growing wide and then, just when I thought the silence would kill me, she laughed. My heart pounded and I felt my chest constricting even more.

“Of  _course_  I am!”

I blinked, somehow shocked by her admission, the air returning to my lungs.

“And you are mine.” she said, taking my hand in hers, her eyes glowing with warmth.

It was clear to me that night that something had changed between us. I knew there was no going back from it—and I think so did she—she was a very clever and wise woman—when she wished to be.

**_TO BE CONTINUED..._ **


	21. Sayounara Waltz (Unforgiven)

_Mama listen to me  /_ _Today I want to say /_ _Today I had a dream /_ _Such a beautiful sweet dream_

_Papa listen to me /_ _Today I want to say /_ _Today I had a dream /_ _Of papa and mama too_

_Ah, in the pale blue light of the moon /_ _A stray kitten who wanders /_ _Seems to beckon to me_

_See now it's my time to dance a waltz /_ _Dancing all by myself /_ _Held close by the moon now_

_It is time /_ _Time to dance_

_Mama listen to me /_ _Today I want to say /_ _Today I had a dream /_ _I'm just a little bit afraid_

_Papa listen to me /_ _Today I want to say /_ _I'll turn into a star /_ _Such a beautiful shining star_

_Thank you from my heart /_ _I love you very much /_ _This is forever /_ _Now I fly /_ _Up to the sky_

_See now it's my time to dance a waltz /_ _Dancing all by myself /_ _Held close by the moon now_

_It is time /_ _Time to dance_

_See now it's my time to dance a waltz /_ _Dance a waltz of farewell_

_It's just like I dreamed /_ _Everything_

_Like a dream_

_**"Sayounara Waltz" - The Mortal** _

* * *

Marc Antoní told us he was taking us to a safe-house on the outskirts of  _Sevilla_ , somewhere quiet and secluded. After everything we had been through, some peace and quiet seemed nice.

When we arrived at the house that night, it was dark inside. He turned on the light and I looked around the parlor. Mother walked up to a picture and kissed it; it was a picture of a handsome man with blonde hair, standing with his arm around who I thought was a very young Marc Antoní; he wore a matador's costume, and a pretty young blonde woman who looked pregnant; I smiled realizing it was my mother.

"Is that...my father?" I asked, gesturing at him.

"Yes," she said, smiling.

At the bottom of the picture, there was an inscription written in Catalan in faded pen:

**_Marc Antoni, Victoría, i jo, 1966 Septiembre_ **

"Alberto..." she said softly, her eyes seemed to be looking far away.

I knew that since I was born in late January of 1967, this was only a few months before I was born and, from what she had told me, a few months before he died. I could only imagine the painful memories this picture evoked in her, and I wondered if this place had secrets too.

I found my mother in the parlor; it was dark and she was watching movies on a projector. I sat next to her on the sofa.

"Is that-is that Father?" I asked, looking at a handsome blonde haired man on the screen. He was in swimming trunks, his hair seemed to glow in the sun, a radiant smile on his face. His hair fell about to his shoulders; still quite short yet long enough to pull back. A beautiful young blonde woman wearing a green bikini walked up behind him, waving and smiling, her belly large and round. I looked over at my mother and I smiled. Then, I watched as with an impish gleam in his eye, my father back-flipped into the pool behind them. I realized this was the same house, maybe 15 or 20 years before.

It looked so warm and inviting there; it could have been summer though I did not know for certain. The warmth of Southern Spain was alluring all year round.

"He looks so young!" I exclaimed.

"He was..." she replied with a sigh. "Not much older than you are now."

"When was this?"

"The summer before you were born..."

She continued to stare at the screen and I could see the pain in her eyes. I draped my arm around her and she nestled against me.

"What was he like?"

"He was...well, as you see now! He was very precocious. He loved adventure and he loved to play; there was something always warm about him."

There came a silence while we watched the screen, transfixed by the ghosts of her past.

"Oh God, you look so much like him!" she exclaimed and my heart fell. I stood up, walking up to the screen.

"I-I do? I always thought I looked like you."

She smiled sadly.

"You have his eyes, his smile."

I sat again next to her and she stroked my face.

"I see him every time I look at you...I miss him." I met her gaze as she searched mine, perhaps trying to find him in me. She kissed me tenderly, her lips soft and warm though they trembled and I wondered who she was kissing in that moment. She broke into a sob and nestled against my neck. I wrapped my arm around her head and held her a moment.

"It's all right, it's all right." I whispered. "You are not alone anymore. You have  _me_!"

"It hurts. It hurts so much. Sometimes I don't know how I can bear to look to at you."

I sighed and tried to process everything she said. My heart felt heavy with both happiness and sorrow; the joy of finally knowing about my father, but sorrow for my mother. I did not mourn for my father, whom I never knew but I felt my mother's pain tearing into my heart. I was her most precious treasure, the one she loved above all, and now I sensed some kind of resentment.

I held her face in my hands and smiled at her, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in chest.

"You can look at me because I am handsome and I am beautiful and my mother loves beautiful things!"

She laughed, somewhat hysterical.

"I do. You are my angel, my beautiful fallen angel and I am thankful everyday that your father gave me you. You were his greatest gift."

"You see, he did not want you to feel alone either!"

She nestled against me.

"No, you are right." she said with another sad smile.

I glanced at the screen.

"Marc Antoní was there too?"

" _Always_. We were inseparable in those brief days; your father's best friend."

Marc Antoní grinned at the camera now, his swarthy dark looks highlighting his light colored green eyes. I did not see the darkness that was usually there; now it seemed replaced by his beaming white smile. His dark hair still hung passed his ears in smooth waves and he ran a hand through it. He threw his arm around my mother's shoulder and kissed her cheek.

I looked back at her and she chewed her lip.

"Yes...he was in love with me too." she said, as if reading my thoughts.

"You were pregnant with _me_  and he  _still_  behaved that way in front of Father?"

"Marc Antoní knew he had lost me by then; I chose your father for good reasons."

"I can't understand how they were best friends though." I said.

She smiled wryly.

"Oh, but they were! Marc Antoní was always so adventurous and hedonistic; he brought that side out in your father but your father did not have his dark side, nor his brother Miguel's cruelty. I was always so tired of Marc Antoní's schemes and I did not like that he was involved with criminal organizations."

I sat forward and looked at her.

"What?" she said with a laugh.

"N-nothing..." I stammered, trying to hide my surprise, swiftly changing the subject. "You were so beautiful! You were s-so full and round! I've never seen you look so happy before. I think you were glowing...but it may be the sun."

She chuckled and a flush crept into her cheeks.

"Oh, Vega..." she sighed wistfully, "We wanted so much to have a big family! I had hoped to give you lots of siblings to play with..." I watched her hand fall absently to her womb.

"But...it was not to be..."

I stroked her hair and nuzzled her cheek.

"Were I not your son—someone else,  _anyone else_ , I would have made you  _so_  happy. I can't bear to see you like this..." I whispered.

I pressed my lips against her neck and I could feel her pulse racing beneath them; she suddenly shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut, as if she banished the image before her.

"It will never be, it can never be. That part of my life is dead—along with your father."

I held her face in my hands, my gaze locked on hers.

"Damn it! I am here!  _Me!_  I am alive, here,  _now_. You can't hold a ghost, you can't kiss one either."

She startled at my abruptness and large tears rolled down her cheeks. I let out an exasperated sigh.

"I'm sorry. Tell me what I can do to help! What can I do to ease your pain?"

She shook her head.

"Just hold me a while and we'll watch the rest of these."

And so I did as she asked and wrapped my arms around her, pressing my cheek to her head.

I wondered who this young handsome man was that was my father; a man kept secret from me my whole life, erased from existence now alive and vibrant on the screen before me.

* * *

After a few hours, I looked down to see my mother fast asleep in my arms and I smiled. I felt thankful I had her and no one could ever deny her existence in my eyes.

She began to stir and she looked up at me.

"Oh! I must have fallen asleep!"

"It's alright," I smiled at her softly.

"I should go to bed..are you coming?" she asked, stroking my cheek.

"No," I said shaking my head. "I want to stay up a while longer."

She yawned and carefully moved off the sofa.

"Okay, my darling, but please, don't stay up too long." with a quick kiss goodnight, I nodded and watched her disappear towards her room.

And so it was, I was alone in the parlor with nothing but the light of the projector. I saw some reels of film we did not watch earlier and I carefully changed them out. I could not read the labels on the canister in the dark but soon enough it became clear what it was.

Scenes of bullfights from the past soon filled the screen and I looked to see a familiar figure in the  _plaza del toros—_ my father parading out with his  _cuadrilla_  following proudly behind him.

I watched as scene after scene he triumphantly took down each bull. I smiled to myself as I watched him present a favor to my mother out in the crowd each time, often the ear of the bull. The camera could not zoom in to her but I could tell how proud she was just by her body language, standing there, bowing and waving at him with her white handkerchief—a stark contrast to the morose and somber mood she had the one time she came to  _my_  bullfight.

The heavy weight of sleep began to pull at my eyes as I laid there, stretched across the sofa watching his fights. After what seemed to be his millionth fight and his millionth victory, I was nearly asleep when something caught my eye—the sleep instantly vanished from my body and I sat up.

Carefully he cornered the bull, waving the red cape and sword in hand, ready to strike his final blow—called "The Moment of Truth" in bullfighting—something I had faced down many times in my own brief career as a  _matador_ —and something I had seen him do many times that night.

He lunged towards the bull and the bull lowered its head, his sharp horns pointing at my father. With another flourish of the cape, my father thrust his sword but the sword missed its mark as the bull drove his horns into my father's chest, pinning him to the ground and dragging him, the bull's massive weight bearing down on him. Suddenly, the  _cuadrilla_ was on it, throwing their lances into it and another took my father's sword and drove it into the neck of the bull. It collapsed on the ground and they gathered around my father.

I stood, drawing as close as I could, and I watched them carefully try and move the bull while the others tried to pull my father's now lifeless body away.

Without realizing it, my heart was in my throat and I was thankful for that one moment the films had no sound. I swallowed and exhaled, clenching my fists.

"I am sorry, Father." I said aloud. "I am sorry that you failed but, I will not! No bull ever defeated me and no man will either...she deserved better."

I could not bear to look at the screen anymore and I shut off the projector.

* * *

The days seemed to pass slowly in that house after viewing those films. A pervading sense of sorrow and darkness hung about; the many pictures and relics of my father scattered around the house made it seem like a mausoleum.

My mother began to withdraw, even more quiet than I had ever seen her. I had seen her depressed much of my life, the pain and abuse by my stepfather taking the toll on her. Now he was gone and she seemed so wistful. I wanted more than anything to stop her pain but I began to feel that maybe I could not reach her.

It was hard to understand what made this time so different than the others; she had no one to torment her, no one to fear and yet, here she was, mourning for a man she could never love again.

I came to her room and she lay on her bed in the dark, wearing her blouse, skirt and heels. Not sleeping, not moving. I could hear soft crying.

I laid down beside her, her back to me. I wrapped my arms around her, pinning her arms across her chest.

"You cannot continue this way," I whispered into her ear.

"No, I can't..." she moaned.

I inhaled her sweet scent.

"You have to get up! You have to move again. You can't just lie here forever, you know."

"Why not?" she sobbed, sniffing. "I have no reason to move...I-I can't help but to think Marc Antoní is doing this on purpose."

I raised my head.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything he's done for us has been nothing but tragedy. It's as if...he wants me to suffer...and...I do not know why."

I pressed my lips to the back of her head thoughtfully. She had a point; after all, I knew he was the one to tell her about my fighting and bring to her to that disastrous event. I could see him standing there with his permanent smirk. Oh, he must been so pleased with himself to see us at odds like that!

I began to wonder about what he had to gain and then I realized what he was trying to do for me. Teaching me to fight, pushing me so hard to train. We both knew I could not ever be the fighter I was meant to be with her so close to me; he was driving us apart, bit by bit for either my benefit or his own selfish gain—I could not tell at that moment.

I felt my chest tighten and a burning fire swept through me once again; I held her tighter with the thought. Of course I wanted to fight! That was no question; but to do this to us? Destroy our family, the family of his best friend that was like his own...unacceptable.

Marc Antoní and I continued to train daily outside in the corridors of our patio and still, the darkness that surrounded my mother weighed heavily on my mind. It was becoming harder to think, harder to focus—which is dangerous when you are fighting.

"What is wrong with you, Vega?" he said. "You've missed most of my hits today."

"It's Mother, she is suffering."

He gave a wry smile, something not completely welcome but not unexpected from him.

"She is  _always_  suffering, Vega. There is little you can do about it."

"You brought us here, you  _made_  her suffer!" I hissed.

"That was  _not_  my intention!" he exclaimed, his green eyes flashing. "I would never hurt her."

"But you  _did_!" I hissed, the vitriol rising in my throat.

He shook his head somberly.

"There were few places we could go after her little...stunt." he let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his brows.

"Why not back to Lyons? If you are a Spaniard, why do you live there anyway?"

"Never you mind!" he snapped and then in his characteristic manner, his face softened into a wry smile. "I think you two had overstayed your welcome there, anyway. Don't you? Besides, I thought that she deserved to be someplace nice, someplace quiet,  _safe_. I knew she missed her husband and I thought that if she could see him again and remember him, it would make her happy after all those miserable years with your uncle."

My anger cooled as I listened to his words and thought about them.

"Believe me, Vega. I had no way of knowing she would react this way. If I had suspected even the least bit she would be so despondent, I would have never done it."

I swallowed the lump growing in my throat, watching the sadness wash over his face. I knew he was not lying—at least not this time.

"She has not left her bed in days. She lays in the dark all day. She barely eats or drinks." I said. "Nothing I did helped her."

"I know, Vega." he said softly, putting his hand on my shoulder. "It's been very quiet since we came here—quiet as the grave. Unfortunately, she was never given a chance to mourn him properly... "

"What happened?"

Marc Antoní raised his eyebrows.

"She did not tell you?"

"No, not as yet. She seems very reluctant to tell me anymore about the past. She's in too much pain."

He sighed and crossed his arms.

"Very well. When your father died, I had planned on marrying your mother to protect you and her. He made me promise I would if anything ever happened to him."

"Even though she chose to marry him to begin with?"

Marc Antoní laughed dryly.

"She told you that, did she?" and he shook his head.

"She seemed to imply you were... _all lovers_." I said, my mouth barely able to form the words, and I grimaced at the thought.

"Indeed we  _were_." he smirked at my discomfort. "They were the best friends and lovers I had ever had! We spent many passionate moments together. However, they were different times then, much more free and open; but, I never wanted to marry her! Her mood swings and emotional outbursts were too exhausting! But your father—God rest his soul—found her  _'refreshing'._ " he grimaced and added, "What he saw in her, I will never know..."

My chest tightened.

"How could you say such a thing about her? You wanted her! You obviously began to pursue her after my father died. You continued after her, no matter the cost when she married my uncle Miguel!"

It was his turn to grimace now as he rolled his eyes.

"That is not the point! Wanting someone is far different from marrying them! I highly doubt you wanted to marry all the girls that you've slept with."

The heat rose beneath my cheeks.

"That's not the same at all!"

He smirked in triumph.

"Ah, good. I see we understand each other."

Not wanting to pursue that topic any longer, I swiftly changed it.

"Then... _why?_  Why did she marry that monster instead?"

"I was just coming to that. It turns out that there was marriage contract in place in the de Cerna family line. It stated that in the event of a brother's death, the wife must marry her brother-in-law to preserve the family."

"What? How medieval! It's almost.. _.incestuous_." I exclaimed and I could feel my stomach turn.

"Indeed. But your family is very old, Vega. You come from a long line of nobility in Catalonia."

"But then why was my father kept a secret from me? Why was his existence erased from our family?"

"Your father left a stain on the family reputation by publicly denouncing General Franco and his fascist regime at the time. He did not take into consideration doing so would put him on the chopping block nor that it would ruin the family name. General Franco was not fond of the existing nobility in the country as it was, taking away land and titles at a whim. Some were executed, some imprisoned for less than what your father did! Luckily, your uncle Miguel, for all the bastard that he was, used what sway he had with General Franco to save your father from execution or...an even worse unknown fate."

"You mean like my mother's parents when they...'disappeared'?"  
My mother often told me the story of how when she was very little, she hid in the cellar with her grandparents while Franco's secret police drug her parents away, never to be seen again; though I never gave it much thought since it did not affect me directly.

He smiled wryly.

"Yes. Your father's title and wealth were stripped from him, and his family immediately disowned him; but your father was stubborn! To make ends meet, he became a bullfighter, quickly regaining his wealth and a new status before he died. Your mother had barely even buried your father before she was made to go to your uncle's estate; Miguel forced her to leave any trace of his memory behind in this house...except you. You were named in defiance of him."

I nodded solemnly and I began to understand my mother's grief but it did not change how weary I became from it.

"I saw my father's films." I suddenly blurted and he looked at me, his eyebrows raised and he smiled.

"Did you? What did you think?"

"I saw him die."

The color drained from his face and in his green eyes shone a gleam more serious than I had ever seen; his voice grew deep and low.

"Vega...you were never meant to see that, nor was your mother—God forbid."

"She hasn't seen it, I don't think, but I found her watching the other movies the other day. There were all kinds of them; you were all playing in the pool here, horsing around and having fun! And then, we saw the footage of the bullfights-"

"Ah, yes. I remember making those. I made them for your father to keep as a record of all his fights. I recorded them all, even the day he died."

"She was there, wasn't she?"

He nodded.

"She saw it happen, just as I did. It happened so fast when that bull barreled down on him, there was nothing we could do. The bull impaled him clean through."

"There was no warning? Something in its behavior?"

Marc Antoní laughed dryly.

"Vega, you know as well as any one—you cannot ever be sure of what a bull might do!"

I sighed with a shrug. In my brief time as a champion matador, one of the youngest in Spain, I knew he was right.

"Well I know that I won't fail. I will better than he ever was!"

"Yes, you will...and on that note, I think it's time to advance your training." he said, folding his arms and shifting his weight.

"What do you mean?"

"What would you say to training in Japan?"

"Japan? Why there?"

Marc Antoní smiled broadly.

"One cannot become a true assassin without first living amongst them."

I felt my heart race with excitement.

"You mean, I will train with ninjas?"

"The very best most secret and ruthless clan in Japan! You are far too good for the likes of Spain—or Europe for that matter. Your light will only be darkened here."

I knitted my brows; I knew what he was talking about.

"My mother...she needs care."

"I know she does and while you're away, she will have the very best doctor money will buy! The absolute best."

My heart that once raced now dropped to my stomach. I clenched my fist and chewed my lip as the realization hit me that I would leave her, once and for all, for the first time in my life.

"Vega, there comes a time in every young man's life when he must go out and make his mark on the world! She will cry and she will mourn but she will know that in the end it's what's best for you."

"Best for me? She's never known what's best for me—only her!"

"Come now. I know she can be a bit... shallow but in her heart, she would know the truth."

I snickered and rolled my eyes. I loved her more than anyone but I knew she would not let me go. Not now, not ever. The precarious position I had been put in would finally begin to tear me apart—wanting nothing more than to be on my own, seeing the world—and still longing to be by her side and let her completely consume me.

"She's in love with a ghost!" I cried. "I think she is possessed by it. I...I do not know what to do. I cannot leave her this way and I cannot leave until her spell is broken."

"What you must do. Vampires must be killed in their coffins and ghosts are found at their graves."

"Where is his grave?"

"There is a small shady tree at the edge of the garden. There you will find his grave...and the grave of your mother. They had every intention of spending eternity together."

I swallowed and nodded. I had no fear of graves or graveyards but I feared what would become of her. When I made her face her ghost, what would I find?

* * *

I leaned in the doorway of her room, watching my mother lay there in darkness. She was fully dressed with a white blouse, tight black skirt and heels, but she lay sprawled on the bed, not asleep, not even blinking; I could see the traces of her tears on her cheeks even in the dim light that poked beneath the curtains.

Her grief had overpowered her love for me—and that was  _unacceptable_. Each day she was like this; I know that Marc Antoní said she had not been able to grieve before, but I wondered just how long she intended to stay this way.

I knelt down by her side and stroked her cheek with the back of my hand. As if woken from a dream, she gasped at me and then threw her arms around my neck, sobbing. I bit my lip with a sigh, trying to be patient, trying to be compassionate but with each sob, I could feel my resolve beginning to wane.

The warm allure of the pleasant weather in _Sevilla_ was too hard to resist staying inside all day. Our small estate, quite a bit smaller than the one I grew up on, had a nice patio with a beautiful flower garden and a fountain. I thought perhaps just once I would try to get her outside to soak up the sun and smell all the lovely flowers; ones I was sure that she herself had planted, or at least picked out at one time.

I threw open the curtains, daylight streaming in. She moaned and turned over onto her stomach, hiding her face from the light.

"Come on now, Mother. You are not the queen of the dead!" I mused.

She moaned, turning over again, throwing her arm over her eyes.

"Oh you can be so cruel!"

"Cruel? Am I not your prince, your savior of the light?"

She smiled and removed her arm, squinting in the light, her hair laying around her head like a halo; she looked up at me from behind her heavy-lidded eyes.

"Oh yes, my sweet bloodthirsty prince! Wouldn't it be lovely to live forever together, you and I? No pain, no death?"

I lifted my head as I looked at her; I knew what she had meant and in her state, I was not surprised.

"No death..." I muttered under my breath. I knelt down by her side, gazing into her eyes, and she took my hands in hers, entwining our fingers together. "I would live forever with you." I said softly, kissing her forehead. She gazed up at me and I could see the love in her eyes gleaming back at me.

This was the truth, more than anything in the world. If I could stay by her side forever, I would. Still, at this moment, her pain tore at me, a deeper pain than I had ever known and I was determined to not let her go on like this.

Using my strength and the leverage she had inadvertently provided me by linking our hands together, I pulled her up so that she sat on edge of the bed.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she cried.

"We're going outside." I declared, pulling her to her feet.

"But it's far too bright!" she protested.

"Yes, I know. That's exactly why we're going. There's a lovely garden out there and you should enjoy it."

"I know about the garden and I do not wish to go!"

I pulled on her hand as we walked out her bedroom.

"It will be nice, you'll see. Besides, I think you and I should talk."

We walked hand in hand outside, the warm sun shining down on us and a gentle breeze blowing through our hair. I knew there was one place I had to take her, whether she wanted to go or not—it was important for  _both_  us.

I walked towards a shady tree at the edge of the garden. I could just make out the round stone that protruded up from the ground. She froze, her eyes widened, her chest heaving. I saw her fear and I stroked her face.

"Come on..." I encouraged her, and I drew her hand to my lips.

"I can't."

"Yes you can. I am here with you." She looked at me and licked her lips, letting out a deep sigh.

She began to walk again and I could feel her hand in mine go clammy.

"It's alright," I whispered.

We stopped under the tree and stood before the grave of my father. The temperature dropped considerably in the shade; I watched her shudder and rub her arms suddenly. I wrapped my arms around her and drew her close both in comfort and warmth.

She began to sob quietly and I stared at the words etched in the stone. My father was only 22 when he died, so young. It seemed almost impossible that one could die so young. Beside his tombstone was another matching stone with my mother's name on it, just as described.

"Are you alright?" I asked, turning to her.

She looked up at me tearfully, the last of her tears spilling down her cheeks.

"I don't understand how he could be gone! We had the perfect life. Everything was perfect and now, nothing is. He was not meant to die."

"He died so that I could live, remember? Your greatest gift?"

She searched my eyes, bewilderment showing back in hers.

"I know that he would not want you to be sad anymore. He would want us to be happy and live the rest of our lives together the best we can. Right?"

"I..." her mouth began to quiver and I could see she was going to cry again. I held her tight until she stopped.

A few moments later, we resumed walking back towards the garden. In the middle was the fountain surrounded by red roses. We took a seat on the edge of the fountain, its coolness refreshing in the sun. She turned and stared at her reflection in the water. I stood up and taking out my knife, I cut a rose, careful to avoid the thorns. I brushed its smooth velvety petals against her face and she gasped, turning back to me. I handed her the rose and I gave her a gentle smile.

I watched her smell it, her eyes closed and for a moment, I saw pleasure on her face. I sat next to her again and took her hand in mine.

"I am leaving for Japan." I said, after a pause.

She dropped the rose and stared at me, her eyes widened in shock.

"I'm-I'm sorry I have forsaken you. I never thought I would feel this way." she stammered tearfully.

I smiled gently.

"No, that's not why I am going." I stroked her cheek reassuringly.

"Then, why on earth would you go there?"

"I am going to train!"

"What?" she shrieked, "No! No more fighting, no more training. I forbid it!"

I smirked at her; the way she reacted in fear was always amusing.

"Please try to understand. I am doing this for both of us. I want to become even better."

"But, I don't want you to go!" she whined.

"It's frightening to think of leaving you. I've been all over Europe—even to Mexico—but never this far without you."

"I love you, Vega! I can't lose you!" she cried.

I pulled her to me, hugging her tight.

"I love you, too. Father tried and failed to become the best." I lifted her chin to meet my solemn gaze.

"He  _failed you_. I will not fail you."

I kissed her tenderly, muffling more of her protests in the process.

"I need you! What will I do without you?"

"It's only for a year or 2 then I promise I will be back! You will see."

I kissed her forehead, temple and cheek, savoring the bitter taste like always, kissing every part of her face, fervently trying to comfort her.

"I promise you."

"Who will take care of me while you are away? I have never been alone."

It was hard to deny that she looked like a lost child looking at me the way she did, still, I could not help but smile at her.

"You won't  _be_  alone. I'll be there with you, in spirit. You told me you would always be with me no matter what!"

"Only when I die...and I am certain I  _shall_ when you leave."

"Then I will have to make you feel less alone while I am here...and perhaps Marc Antoní can help you put on some fancy parties! You always enjoy those!"

She sighed, looking away.

"I suppose..."

With that, I pulled her to her feet and we went back into the house.

* * *

My announcement did nothing to ease her depression, and I feared it would not. In fact, I feared it would make it worse. She continued to lay in the dark and I continued to worry.

Marc Antoní continued making preparations for my journey; I studied with a Japanese tutor everyday for what seemed like hours to be ready when I came to Japan and meanwhile, Marc Antoní prepared my passport and something extra for my beloved mother.

A doctor visited, carrying a bottle of little yellow pills; I was not stupid. I knew they were anti-depression pills—she had taken them on and off when I was growing up—but this time, I could not be anymore thankful for them.

Dutifully, she took them daily and I began to notice small changes in her as the weeks went by.

She cried less and slept less but she still did not leave her room. I decided it was something positive for the moment. She had become so accustomed to being in her room living around my uncle Miguel that I suppose it was her habit. I did not mind of course. We were able to spend time together without Marc Antoní's smirking gaze.

Before I knew it, it was time to leave and it was the night before I left. I knew that I dreaded this moment more than anything because it meant saying goodbye for a long time to the woman I loved more than anything.

I knew she was keenly aware of this; our bond was almost mystical. I dreaded seeing her in pain, I dreaded her reaction, and I could only hope it would be better than I imagined.

I came to her room that night as I always did, and yet my heart raced at the idea of entering it.

I saw her there in the dim light of her lamp, sitting on her bed against the headboard, her knees tucked up to her chest in the rather flimsy silken nightgown she always wore. There was something almost feral about her as I looked at her; her eyes were dark and withdrawn, her hair unbrushed. I could see her trembling as she sat there, staring into space.

I sat next to her on the bed and stroked her face.

"Mother?"

Like a statue come to life, she clutched at my shirt and looked up at me.

"Please don't leave me! I beg you!" she cried, her eyes gleaming with tears.

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, looking down at her with such sorrow. She had not begged me before and I could see such desperation in her eyes, her body trembling against me. I kissed her cheek and searched for the right words that seemed to get caught in my throat.

"You know I have to go. I am sorry."

"No, you can't! I'll die!"

I snickered,

"You will do no such thing!"

"I will! I will die without you!"

"Do you really think I wish to leave you? This is the hardest thing I have ever done and you are not making it easier for me." I exclaimed.

"Good!" she pouted.

I stood up and went to the bathroom, examining the bottle on the counter that the doctor had given her.

"Have you been taking your medication?" I asked.

"No..." she muttered. "I do not need it now. I don't need anything now—except you."

I let out a heavy sigh, sitting back down on the bed and I drew her close against me, trying to quell the frustration that grew in my heart.

"You  _need_ this." I implored, showing her the pills.

She pursed her lips and shook her head like a child refusing their medicine.

"It does me no good! It steals my soul and leaves me lifeless. I will not take them; you cannot make me."

I grabbed her by the arm, throwing her down the bed, wedging a pill into her mouth. To my surprise, she spit it out at me, sending it flying across the room. She scowled and her eyes gleamed with anger.

"Would you have me be..a zombie?" she accused.

"I want you to be well again!" I cried. "You are not who I love. Your pain is my own and I cannot bear it any longer. Be well so that I can go to Japan in peace."

"No. I won't let you go!" she cried, clinging to me even more desperately. "I'll die!" she screamed, sobbing hysterically.

"Please, don't do this to me."

I stroked her hair while she cried, trying to think of a way to reach her.

"I love you." I said, the first and most true thing that came to my mind. "I love you so very much and we belong together, you are right." she looked up at me, her tears ceasing. I brushed her hair out of her tear-stained face, continuing to stroke it while I spoke.

"But sometimes, I do not know how I should feel around you. Sometimes I can't breathe around you-"

"Vega, are you saying that I smother you?" she intoned sharply, her brows furrowed and her eyes gleamed.

"Sometimes...there are times when that is all I want! But now, I..." and I bowed my head. She was not to be outdone by my confession and she lifted my chin till I met her eyes.

"Do you trust me?" she inquired.

"I...I think maybe someday..."

"Someday?" her voice rose.

I shook my head, looking down.

"Someday—but, I love you! I love you more than anyone else! You are my truest love! I just-I just think that you need to let me go—just for a little while, just a little bit."

"You don't trust me and you want me to let you go? No!" she shrieked. "Never!"

"Just for a little while sometimes, that's all!"

Her face dropped and her eyes gleamed with passion.

"No..." she whined, vehemently shaking her head. "I won't. I won't ever!"

"We breathe the same air! We have the same blood-"

"How can that not be enough?" she cried.

"Because  _I_  need to be on my own some days."

"No! No no no  _no_!"

She hugged herself tight, and she refused to look at me again.

I peered into her eyes and turned her to look at me.

"I won't leave you, I swear I will return to you. Don't you ever like being on your own sometimes? Away from me?"

"No!"

I sighed.

"I'll die!" she screamed at me.

"You won't!" I screamed back.

"Oh but I will! You don't understand." she said, and she moved off the bed. There was a letter-opener laying on her vanity and she picked it up and sat on the bed before me. She lay the blade flat against her wrist.

Tears streamed down her cheek as she looked at me.

"Where shall I cut?" she asked.

She had never threatened to kill herself before but I did not let it phase me. This was all just more hysterics.

"You  _won't_." I hissed and I grabbed the knife from her. "Do you want me to prove it to you?"

The terror washed across her face and her chest heaved.

"W-what?"

I crawled over her, resting on my knuckles, the knife in my other hand. My luxurious hair fell into my eyes and I pushed it back, gazing into her eyes. Her mouth quivered, her eyes wide with fear.

"Do you want me to prove it to you?" I said once more.

I sat back on my heels, drawing the blade across my palm, watching in ecstasy the red blood gushing from the cut. She gave sort of strangled cry and moved her trembling hand over her mouth.

I smirked at her, leaning forward and taking her hand in mine.

"There's nothing to to be afraid of, I'll show you."

I drew the blade across her palm the same as I did mine and she cried out, arching her back. Then, I pressed our palms together, lacing our fingers.

"My blood is yours, your blood is mine. I swear by our blood I  _will_  return to you."

I stroked her face with my free hand and she cried softly, the tears falling down the corners of her eyes.

I leaned forward and kissed her tenderly; I could feel her trembling against me. I parted and looked down at her.

"With this kiss I seal our oath. Nothing can part us, not even death." I said and she drew her arms around my neck, pulling me forward into another tender kiss, but soon she dissolved into more sobbing.

"I...I don't want to die!" she sobbed.

"As long as you are mine, you will not die! I am death himself and to be loved by death means you will live forever."

"But, why? Why must you leave me? I can't bear it!" she cried.

"I know...I am sorry..." I muttered.

I could feel my chest begin to tighten again, after all I had done, she started in again.

"It isn't fair! It isn't fair!" she shrieked.

I growled, pinning her arms above her head.

"Stop it!" I yelled, looming over her.

"You claim to love me and still you won't let me go. You are so selfish! You kept my own father from me! My father!" I cried and it hit me again as I read her eyes, searching for answers.

"You didn't tell me because...you wanted me all to yourself! You can't even share me with a memory!"  
Her mouth quivered but she did not speak. I looked down and rubbed the cut on my palm. "How could I have given myself to someone like you?"

I could feel my throat becoming scratchy the more I began to yell at her, my chest tightening with my emotion.

"This room is destined to become my tomb..." she said mournfully, the tears overflowing down her cheeks.

I moved away from her and turned to leave.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Please don't go. Please?"

She moved before me now, and I watched her nightgown slide off her body, revealing her breasts and leaving her half naked. Perhaps I should have been shocked, appalled, dismayed by this—but I was not. After everything we had been through, there was little left to make me react to her.

I bent down, picking up her nightgown and threw it at her. She looked at me, her eyes were once again dark and smoldering; gleaming at me in the same way they were at the fight.

I smirked and stroked her cheek.

"There was a time when I wanted this...more than anything I could imagine—more than  _you_  could imagine," I could feel the bile rising in my throat as I spoke, surveying her figure. "But now I see. You're a liar- _and_  a whore." and I turned away from her. She grabbed my hand but I shook her off.

"Live with your sins." and I slammed the door.

As I walked down the corridor to a room, I could hear her screaming my name again and again at the top of her lungs, an almost horrifying screech. I could feel my heart in my throat and I shook my head, wondering why she had not come after me. There was nothing I could do now and nothing she could do. I was leaving, and that is what I did.

_**Stay tuned for the Spanish Ninja's adventures in Japan!**_

_**TO BE CONTINUED...** _


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